


Painting the clouds with sunshine

by Royal_Ermine



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - British, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, British English, Character Death, Comfort/Angst, Cultural Differences, Disabled Character, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mpreg, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Bucky Barnes, Physical Disability, Pining, Slow Burn, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2020-04-06 03:45:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 152,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19054585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royal_Ermine/pseuds/Royal_Ermine
Summary: Second World War bomber pilot and native New Yorker Bucky Barnes gets dispatched to the ancient city of York in England, where he falls desperately in love with a gorgeous local boy called Steve Rogers.





	1. Piccadilly Commandos: January 1942

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by an old song from 1929 entitled 'Painting the clouds with sunshine'. It made me wonder, what if Steve came from Old York instead of New York. Would he and Bucky ever meet and fall in love? Well, in this slow-burn story they just might...
> 
> You can hear a version of the song (with lyrics) on an old piano roll here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8XFvCcGVNfY
> 
> Dedicated with love to my good friends Diamond_Raven and BethofAus
> 
> p.s. Please note, this is an AU Second World War fic. Dates, characters and events will not unfold with historical accuracy.

(Beautiful artwork created for me by Diamond_Raven) 

 

 

“Your IDs please, gentlemen?”

The Alphas flashed their war department cards to the bored-looking Beta sergeant slumped behind his desk.

“I hear this is the place to have a good time?” drawled the scrawnier of the two, his scarred face contorted into a lascivious grin.

The Beta sergeant’s face betrayed little, except perhaps a faint tinge of disdain at the scent of untrustworthy Alpha. Clearly, he’d heard and smelt that kind of talk plenty of times before.

At length he answered smoothly, “Depends on what you mean by a good time, airman. We only set up here in London a few weeks back, but we got hot showers, a barber’s shop, and a shoe shine parlour.”

“Well, that’ll do for a start. I’ll need to look my best.”

“We also got ice cream, sodas, donuts and real coffee.”

His companion, broader and taller, but painfully shy, smiled brightly at the prospect of that. “They told me this place would be a home away from home. Boy, oh boy…what I wouldn’t do for a steamin’ hot cup of joe right now!”

“Well, the American Red Cross will always do its best to…”

“Never mind about all that”, the scarred airman butted in charmlessly. “What about the broads?”

The sergeant’s smile tightened into an inscrutable mask. “I don’t know what you could possibly mean.”

“Broads, dames, tail…whatever the hell they call ‘em over here in this god-forsaken damp little country.”

The sergeant’s eyes narrowed. “We’ve a basement called Dunker’s Den below with a jukebox and dancing…”

“…and if I wanna jive horizontally?” the airman interrupted.

“Listen, bud…” the sergeant snapped impatiently, “Rainbow Corner’s in the middle of Piccadilly. I don’t think I need to explain to you exactly what that means, do I? As soon as it gets dusk, you’ll see them all right…shining matches or flashlights on their faces, and then down towards their stockings and high heels. They call ‘em the Piccadilly Commandos…and they charge by the hour, so you’d better have the dough.”

“Oh, he’s got plenty of that,” confirmed his shy companion. Bucky knew he had. On their four day 'pleasure cruise' over a storm-tossed wintry Atlantic, with only the nausea keeping the fear of U-boat attacks at bay, Brock had damn near cleaned him out, but then graciously taught him enough about card sharping to win practically all of it back again from the rest of the poor saps Brock had fleeced within an inch of their lives.

The sergeant cocked his head in the direction of a booth further along the corridor “Foreign exchange is through there. There are 240 pence to the pound so don’t get caught out with short-changing. Enjoy your time in London, gentlemen.”

Without pausing for a moment, the sergeant’s gaze left them as he called out “Okay, who’s next?”

Brock’s face was flushing, always a bad sign. On the second day out of New York, a sailor had the temerity to ask why the two airmen weren’t just flying over to England.   He’d broken that poor Beta’s cheekbone for that remark. He later admitted to Bucky that he’d almost used the Voice – that tone that forced other people to obey an Alpha’s instructions without question – just to humiliate the man still further.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder to see an orderly line of US servicemen had formed up behind them.

“C’mon Brock, we’d best go.”

“Yeah, yeah”, grumbled Brock irritably, shooting the Beta sergeant one final filthy look. “Who the hell are you, my mother?”

 

-*-

 

“Now that’s more like it!” Brock smiled, adjusting the dimple in his tie and checking himself out in the mirror, “After an hour getting here in that filthy crowded railway carriage, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to scrub the stink of unwashed bodies outta my fine Alpha skin. Don’t any of these grimy limeys ever use soap?”

“I think it’s rationed.”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s rationed”, Brock agreed, as they strolled casually into the basement bar “Or nearly everything. When you got the right money there’s the chance for a helluva lot more fun.”

“You don’t mean the black market?” whispered Bucky, as the nearest waitress placed complimentary coffee and donuts on their table.

Brock barked out a laugh. “The market I’m thinking of’s a damn sight blacker than that. Aside from them flashlights o’course.”

The seating area in the basement was vast, clearly planned for the hundreds of troops due to pass through on their way to the war in Europe, but being at the vanguard of Uncle Sam’s fighting forces had its drawbacks. The place was practically empty and the cornet solo from some Glen Miller staple on the jukebox rebounded off the walls with an eerie echo. In the absence of further stimulation, Brock shot back his coffee with little enthusiasm.

“So, you comin’ buddy?”

Bucky wrinkled his nose.

“Look…” Brock clapped one arm on his companion’s shoulder. “We already talked about this. You know I’m cool with it; it’s the ‘40s’ after all. But if you’re after some fun tonight, you might have to set your sights a bit lower, airman.”

Bucky hadn’t met Brock before they ended up together on that transport. He could scent the guy was a jerk from the moment he first met him, but Brock was meant to be some kind of a flying ace, and Bucky was one of the best pilot trainers in the US Air Force. It made sense that they’d be working together, so when Brock started up with his dirty talk, Bucky had decided to come clean about preferring boys.

Girls were all his classmates had talked about once they’d presented, and Omega girls in particular were the stuff of most Alpha boy’s fantasies, but confessing a liking for Omega boys wasn’t the smartest move. There was nothing intrinsically wrong or shameful about it of course, but Omega boys were so rare that an exclusive preference for them was almost guaranteed to leave your parents with no grandkids; that and the fact that few Omega boys risked having kids anyway, what with the terrible risks involved. Omega boys were legendary; poets wrote sonnets for them; musicians sang songs for them but all that was centuries ago. Now they were a dying breed; an evolutionary throwback from a bygone age, and so rare that Bucky had never even met one, let alone had the chance to date one.

Given Brock’s temperamental streak, Bucky wasn’t sure how Brock would react, but he needn’t have worried. Brock was only dangerous when he felt threatened, and learning his companion wasn’t going to be competition for any Omega girls they’d meet in England was music to his ears. Still, it did leave the two of them dancing awkwardly around the issue again now that Brock wanted to go out and ‘play’.

“Listen Bucky, this…well this ‘aint the States”, Brock continued, idly contemplating his donut. “Britain sent most of its Alpha and Beta men into the fight years ago. In the end they even had to send their Omegas in; only the weak or crippled ones’ll be left.  I doubt there’s a single Omega boy left in this whole miserable bombed-out shell of a city.” He unceremoniously stuffed the whole donut into his mouth. “So…you sure you don’t wanna slum it with me?” he asked, ejecting a mouthful of crumbs.

“The prospect of single combat with those Piccadilly Commandos does sound fun…” Bucky smiled shyly “…but…”

“I hear ya.” Brock shrugged. “Look, if it’s about the money, I know I gave you a hard time on the way over. Tell you what? I owe you the cash for a proper date should you ever find a pretty Omega boy that takes your fancy over here, okay?”

“Thanks, Brock. That’s a real kind offer”

“Now, you gonna be okay on your own?”

“Are you kiddin’? With coffee as good as this?”

“Just don’t overdo it. You don’t wanna be up all night.”

“Why not? You will be!”

“That’s the plan”, leered Brock. “Wish me luck.”

Once he’d left, Bucky sighed wearily and sipped on his coffee. He picked at the donut without relish. There was nothing wrong with it; far from it. It tasted like home, but that was the problem. Deep down, he felt homesick. He’d never been out of his state, let alone his country. He missed his folks, his ma and pa, and his sisters, especially Becca, the twin with whom he shared pretty much everything his whole life.

Would he have pestered his father any less if he’d known that his childhood fascination for flying machines would lead him here, to a brutal war in a distant land? probably not. Nevertheless, here he was, about to encounter untold dangers in addition to the heavy responsibilities laid upon Alphas to pilot bombers and guide their fearful crews through their missions. The Alpha Code, even though fewer and fewer young men and women lived by it, was clear in its assertion that an Alpha’s responsibility was first to protect all Omegas, and second to protect their families – their ‘packs’ - to the death if needs be. To abandon either was the greatest shame possible for any code-sworn Alpha to endure. The definition of ‘pack’ had always been a little fuzzy. It encompassed an Alpha’s birth family of course, and also the family of their mate, but the military had been quick to exploit that to infer that an Alpha’s military unit was their ‘pack’ too.

Bucky had solemnly sworn by the code at the age of 14. He took the duties very seriously, and he knew his dad was proud of his son for his strong sense of Alpha duty and protection, but pride didn’t counter fear, or even homesickness. It just masked it a bit, that’s all.

There was little an evening in the fragrant bosom of a ‘Piccadilly Commando’ would have done for him, aside from exposing him to a bewildering variety of intriguing venereal diseases. Plus, he really didn’t like the idea of discarding someone at the end of such a transaction, even though that was the entire point of it. He just wasn’t a “love ‘em and leave ‘em” kind of guy. Besides, if the ‘Commando’ in question had actually been an Omega boy, then the very idea would have been unspeakable. As Brock said, preferring Omega boys to girls wasn’t a problem anymore, and it had never been against the code, but the haunting beauty of Omega boys hinted at their brittle fragility; and fragility could easily lead to tragedy. Protecting an Omega girl was hard enough, but protecting an Omega boy could test any Alpha’s adherence to the code to breaking point, and beyond.

 

“Barnes, aint’ it?”

Bucky whipped round and recognised the Beta Sergeant he’d last seen at the reception desk.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“You got a call coming in from Station 111 Thurleigh.”

“Wow…really?”

The Sergeant rolled his eyes. “Happens all the time, pal.”

“Well, not to me it doesn’t. This is exciting!”

The Sergeant’s deadpan features thawed into an indulgent smile as he nodded in the direction of the bar.

“I’ll put it through to the phone right over there” he said, indicating a booth by the side of the barstools.

Bucky hurried over.

“Senior Airman Barnes here, sir.”

“Ah, good”, crackled a voice on the other end. “Listen; there’s been a last-minute change of plan. The B17s haven’t been delivered here yet, but we read on your file that you’re a quick study and a good trainer. We’d like you and Senior Airman Rumlow to liaise with the Canadians who are forming a conversion squadron to master flying an upgraded British bomber. Their base is near the city of York in the north of England. We’d like you and your colleague to operate from there for the time being.”

“I’m sure this will be a great honour for us, sir. Will there be any transport available?”

“Oh yeah…I was coming to that. We can’t spare a vehicle for just the two of you all that distance, but we’ve arranged the paperwork to get you there by train, and you’ll receive reimbursement to take a taxi the rest of the way. Just report to King’s Cross Station at 07:00 tomorrow for further instructions.”

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together. Brock wouldn’t be pleased to know his weekend of fun with the Piccadilly Commandos would be cut so short, especially by yet another railway journey.

But still, orders were orders.

 


	2. Voice

“Pretty country.”

“Is it?”, flashed Brock irritably, furiously scratching at his crotch.

“Did they…give you anything for that?” queried Bucky.

“Oh yeah. The little beasts are dead all right…but that doesn’t stop me itching where they’ve bitten dirty great holes in me,” he answered gloomily.

“Look out the window, it’ll distract you.”

Brock shot the countryside a cursory five-second glance “Yeah, whatever you say, buddy.”

“It’s the green and pleasant land.”

“Only ‘cause it rains so goddamn much.”

 

They’d been stuck in the carriage for nearly five hours as the train lazily trundled its way northwards, stopping at every insignificant little station. To begin with, all they’d seen was the dull earthy brickwork of the London suburbs, pock-marked by hellish looking bomb craters, the fresher ones still crawling with desperate civilians digging for survivors in the rubble, together with the occasional soldier conspicuous by their khaki uniform.

Then the expanses of brown and grey had gradually given way to lush green fields, punctuated now and then by quaint little villages with country pubs and parish churches snuggled into the valleys. The greenery extended for mile after endless mile of lush sweetly-scented fields linked by hedges or dry-stone walls. In the distance, the white dots of sheep sometimes broke up the monotony, but otherwise one field was much the same as another. That didn’t stem Bucky’s fascination. Brooklyn born and bred, he was in constant awe of the unpretentious peace and calm of this place and it seemed somehow to ease his misgivings and homesickness just a touch.

Aside from the itching, Brock was in amiable enough spirits. His encounter with the Commandos hadn’t exactly been a victory for US forces, given the grievous ‘battle wounds’ they’d inflicted, so once he’d been supplied with the appropriate treatment, he’d been only too happy to take his leave of them, and the sooner the better. Moreover, the early morning train remained reasonably empty most of the way north. No-one else had disturbed them in their carriage until they reached Leeds, less than an hour from their final destination, and that turned out to be an elderly Beta church vicar, so at least he was polite, informative and - as Brock had shamelessly pointed out – impeccably clean.

The vicar had flushed a deep pink at that observation, but Bucky had smoothed things over by asking him about York

“Oh, it’s a simply beautiful city”, he enthused. “It still has the walls all around it from medieval times. Not as it they can protect it from the air raids of course”, he added.

“Is it a lively place to be?”, asked Bucky, hoping the answer might pique Brock’s interest .

“Well it’s the biggest city in these parts”, came the answer. “But it’s not exactly London. I’ve heard the rumour it has 365 pubs; one for each day of the year, but I can’t rightly say I’ve ever been in one, so I’ve never cared to count them. Betty’s is usually very popular with the overseas airmen too. I’ve seen quite a number of them in there whenever I’ve visited.”

“So, who’s this ‘Betty’ broad?”, asked Brock, a plume of Alpha sexual interest instantly tainting the air in the cramped confines of the carriage.

“Oh no, that’s just the name of the place. Betty’s is a very up-market café. Only the Canadians can regularly afford to go in there these days.”

Brock’s interest deflated, just as Bucky’s rose.

“Do they serve a good cup of joe…I mean, coffee?”

The vicar considered that question for a moment.

“Do you know, I’ve never actually asked for one”, he conceded.

Brock cocked an eyebrow at Bucky and coughed up a hollow laugh.

 

-*-

 

The railway station at York was truly impressive. Bucky immediately thought of Grand Central Station, although it wasn’t exactly in that league in terms of sheer scale and the gaping holes in the roof from the air raids didn’t do much for its cosmetic appearance either. They politely bid farewell to their travelling companion and hefted their heavy haversacks onto their backs.

But by the time they’d squeezed their luggage out of the carriage door and made it onto the platform, the place was deserted and the sign marked “Way out” appeared to be pointing towards an exit blocked by fresh rubble.

“Maybe there’s a porter somewhere”, said Bucky, as they wandered back along the platform.

“You’re such a wuss, Barnes,” shot Brock. “Besides, like I said, there’s no men left aside from the rejects, or were you expecting a dame to tote your bags around huh?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh yeah”, purred Brock, with a leer. “Some domineering Alpha dame with a sadistic streak. You got my motor running with that thought, brother.”

“This from the man still scratching away his last encounter with a female.”

“Hey, I’m truly hurt by that remark, Barnes. Aint’ us Alphas meant to look out for each…”

Brock’s mock offence was interrupted by the sound of a door slamming shut in the middle-distance. Over by the engine, a young man in a railway station uniform several sizes too big for him was starting to close up those carriage doors left open by exiting passengers with a well-practiced action, using the base of his walking sticks to push the door latches in with a satisfying click. His jacket flapped around his skinny frame and his peaked station cap slanted down over one ear, revealing a shock of golden hair as he hobbled in an ungainly stride towards them. Bucky glanced down at the weighty mass of stiff leather-bound metal braces caging each of his legs in three encompassing hoops.

Curiosity got the better of Bucky as the figure shambled past and feebly blew his whistle for the train driver to back the engine up into the sheds. He discretely scented the air but came up blank. Even Betas like the desk sergeant and the vicar, who generally lacked any sharp distinction of odour, still had some kind of neutral scent to detect. This character had nothing; absolutely nothing. Bucky had only ever encountered this with babies or the very youngest of children. And, despite his stature, this was certainly no child.

“Erm…excuse me please?”, he coughed.

The man halted abruptly and spun around on the balls of his heels with a surprising deftness.

“May I help you, sir?” The man’s lilting English accent was soft of tone, gentle and sweet; melodious even. He was the one wearing leg braces but it was Bucky who instantly grew weak at the knees.

“We can’t seem to be able to find our way out.”

The man blushed and shyly glanced up through long blond eyelashes “Yes, I’m terribly sorry. Last night’s raid wasn’t a particularly heavy one and it barely touched us, but they did take out the main exit route to this platform. You can still get over the tracks via the footbridge.” He corkscrewed his body out at an unnatural angle to point one of his walking sticks in the direction of a series of steep steps leading to a narrow metal bridge.

“You have got to be kidding me. Up there? With these bags?”

The man’s eyebrows furrowed as he turned his attention to Brock. “I’m really very sorry sir, it’s the best we can do until we patch up the damage. There is a war on you know?”

He turned and continued his painfully slow progress up the platform, but Brock had neither the patience nor the sense to wait for a decent interval.

“See what I mean?”, he spat sourly, “Just the cripples left.”

The man stopped in his tracks and turned to face Brock.

“What did you just say?”

“You deaf too, buddy? I said, ‘just the cripples left’.”

“You take that back.” The young man’s delicate features hardened into an angry stare.

“And why the hell should I? It’s true ain’t it?”

“True or not, you don’t get to judge me, you arrogant excuse for an Alpha.” His gentle tone instantly revealed a concealed edge, the kind of edge that comes from heavy chips being laid onto narrow shoulders.

Brock’s face was flushing. Bucky knew what that meant. He also knew he only had the one chance to diffuse the matter before Brock lost his temper. If it came to blows, Alphas would generally fight to the death.

“Hey look, I’ll carry your bag, Brock, okay?”, he soothed “I could do with lifting some weights. I’m getting out of shape with all this sitting down we’ve been doing late…”

Bucky’s sentence was halted with a firm slap to his cheek. This was Brock’s final warning to him.

“You’re not carrying my bag, Barnes. HE is”

The little man’s jaw plummeted “What kind of ridiculous request is that? You’re over twice my size.”

That did it.

Brock raised himself to full height, puffing out his chest. “I said, YOU WILL CARRY MY BAG.”

Brock had used the Voice; the Alpha Voice. The voice biologically programmed into Alphas to protect their mates and children, the voice that simply couldn’t be resisted. Bucky’s eyes practically bulged out of their sockets.

“You…you can’t do that to him, buddy”, Bucky murmured. “You know how heavy that haversack is. You’ll murder him.”

Brock’s lip curled. “Absolutely no-one talks to me like that, cripple or not.” he growled, repeating the order just for good measure. “YOU WILL CARRY MY BAG.”

The fragile little figure shuddered and struggled, clawing at his arms and weeping in sheer frustration, but there was absolutely no way to resist the voice. Bucky had learned about this in school, about how resisting for a non-Alpha was a physical agony which burned worse than pretty much anything the command might entail. It was an odious thing to inflict on another human being; tantamount to torture.

At length, goodness knows how, this tiny man found the inner strength to heft Brock’s enormous haversack onto his back but his stick-thin legs instantly buckled beneath him. Enduring the agony of the Alpha command still ringing in his ears, the man started to pull himself along the platform inch by agonising inch with his fingertips.

Bucky just couldn’t take this. He got in front of his comrade, exposed his neck and held out his palms in a non-threatening gesture.

“Brock, Brock Look at me!”

The expression of pure hatred in the Alpha’s eyes almost made him pause, but his heart ached to see this frail young man’s suffering. Every second watching his agony etched like acid into Bucky’s conscience.  He could hear his father’s voice when he presented as Alpha: “I’m so very proud of you, my son, but you have a privileged position of power in this world, and you must use it responsibly, to love, nurture and protect, never to exploit. I love you more than my own life, but if I ever hear you’ve abused that power, I’ll disown you, and then I’ll die of shame.”

”Brock, this is wrong, so very wrong. You gotta tell him to stop before it kills him.”

The corner of Brock’s mouth twitched up into an expression Bucky couldn’t quite place, some kind of look of weary realisation perhaps. He didn’t think it would be that simple but maybe...

Damn, but Brock had some top-notch reflexes.

He didn’t even see the blow coming.

 

-*-

When Bucky came around, he found himself surrounded by a handful of concerned railway passengers.

“Are you all right young man?” asked a motherly Beta lady in a voluminous striped dress that made her look for all the world like an enormous padded deck-chair.

“Yeah, I…I…” Bucky rubbed his jaw, and then suddenly remembered what had happened. “Have you seen another US serviceman, dressed like this?”

“Goodness no”, she smiled. “You’re the first American I’ve ever seen in my entire life…aside from those you can see at the picture house of course, but then they’re mostly cowboys aren’t they?”

After making his polite excuses, Bucky carefully made his way over the footbridge, His eyes were immediately drawn to a trail of spidery marks scratched out of the grey paint of metal steps that he guessed might have been made by the man’s leg braces as he crawled. Then, towards the furthest end of the bridge, the trail abruptly stopped. Fearing the worst, he leapt down the bridge two steps at a time, rushing through the near empty concourse and out into the weak January sunshine.

 

Nothing.

 

Nothing but a black-cab taxi with its motor running. Suddenly the back door swung open.

 

“C’mon buddy, get in. Only you know which airfield we’re going to”, Brock called out, in a cheery tone, as if nothing whatsoever had happened.

 


	3. Circus

After Bucky gave the beta lady taxi-driver the name of the airfield and they’d pulled away from the station building, an itchy pregnant pause developed between the two Alphas.

It didn’t last. Brock hadn’t the patience.

“Remind me again buddy, why are we helping out these damn Canucks?”

That was the final straw.

“All right, Brock. What the hell happened back there?”

“Calm down will ya? I did what you asked. I told the kid to stop and I carried my haversack the rest of the way.”

“When?”, demanded Bucky. “When did you do that?”

“After he’d crawled to the end of the footbridge. That was the hardest part. I’m pretty sure he’d learned his lesson by then.”

Bucky couldn’t believe it. Those steps were steep and unforgiving. How on earth had that poor man dragged himself up there pinned down by the haversack? What kind of reserves of courage and inner strength would that even take?

“He was still alive?” Bucky marvelled.

“Alive enough to curse me”, grinned Brock. “Even I gotta admit, that cripple had spirit.”

“Damnit. You shouldn’t have gone and done that.”

“Yeah, I got that message from you loud and clear buddy.”

Brock didn’t speak further on that matter; he didn’t have to. They both knew the only way to avoid direct confrontation between opposing Alphas was either to diffuse (as Bucky had attempted and failed with Brock) or disconnect (as Brock had attempted and succeeded by knocking Bucky into the middle of next week). It wasn’t considered a shameful act, merely a sensible precaution to avoid unnecessary bloodshed.

That didn’t stop Bucky feeling sore about it though.

“You still shouldn’t have done it”, he mumbled.

Brock sniffed. “You always were too damn sensitive, Barnes.”

“We’re guests in a foreign country; we have to be sensitive to that.”

“If you say so buddy, but you’ve got enough bleedin’ heart for both of us. If you’re gonna start dropping bombs on Nazis, you’d better start toughening up some, don’t ya think?”

“I guess. But really? the Voice? You had to use the Voice on him?”

Brock laid back against his seat, with a haughty look. “I don’t regret it; not one bit. That jumped up little shit was asking for it.”

“No-one asks for the Voice, except an aggressive Alpha who’s threatening your family, or maybe an angry mob or something. Certainly not a poor broken man like that.”

“Oh, he was broken all right, by the time I’d done with him”, Brock snorted cockily.

Bucky wanted to punch the man right on the nose, but making a scene in the back of a taxi wasn’t likely to go down well with the driver.

“You are one pathetic excuse for a human being, Rumlow”, Bucky sighed, wearily.

“Now, I’ll take that as a compliment”, came the smug reply.

Suddenly, the cab juddered to a halt.

“Here you go, gents, Pocklington airfield.”

“You sure? I don’t see nothin’.”

The driver pointed into the distance towards a meagre scattering of long low wooden huts abandoned in the middle of a muddy field.

“That’s…it?” gasped Brock.

“That’s it”, the driver confirmed, as Bucky tucked a 10 Shilling note into her hand.”

“Sir…I don’t have change for a note like this,” she gasped. “The fare’s only 2 Shillings ‘n sixpence y’know?”

“Then the rest’s your tip.”

The woman’s jaw practically unhinged.

“If that’s the way you spend your money, it's no wonder you’re always broke”, shrugged Brock as they trudged out towards the biggest hut.

 

-*-

 

“Welcome to 405 squadron, gentlemen. You boys make it over here okay?”

“Yes sir”, said Bucky, saluting smartly.

“At ease, airman. This isn’t a military parade.”

Bucky’s colleague snorted loudly.

Squadron Leader Stark levelled a withering stare at Brock from behind his desk. He was a short, no-nonsense man sporting a formidable handlebar moustache and an attitude to match.

“Well, I suppose you’d both better take a seat,” he said, a lingering note of distaste creeping into his voice.

Bucky sat, Brock slouched, Stark continued. “So, how much do you know about the situation here?”

“I received a call explaining that you were setting up a conversion squadron for your pilots for a new bomber, sir.”

“That’s correct, Barnes. We’re moving from Wellingtons to the Halifax heavy bomber. Specifically, Halifax B Mark IIs. They’re the very latest thing, but the controls are quite different to what we’re accustomed to. Although a lot of my lads are pretty smart, I think they’d understand better if they could see how the controls practically effect how the aircraft operates in flight, rather than just handing them a manual and telling them to get on with it. I hear you’re a good trainer; the best there is in fact.”

“Do you have a full schematic, sir?” asked Bucky.

Stark nodded and handed him a sheaf of papers. “You think you could provide a preliminary briefing for my lads by the end of the week?”

Bucky flicked through the diagrams. “Absolutely sir, it would be my pleasure.”

Stark’s expression brightened. “That’s excellent, Barnes.” He glanced over. “You look like you’re itching to ask a question, Rumlow. What is it?”

“When you say “my lads”, do you mean the Canucks or the Limeys? I can’t place your accent.”

Bucky winced. Stark bristled.

“Two things, airman. First, don’t you ever let me catch you using those terms again on this airfield. The British and Canadians have been allies since the outbreak of the war, and neither of us takes kindly to the other’s nationality being mocked in that manner. Secondly, and in specific answer to your supremely impertinent question, my mother was British and my father was Canadian, so although I’ve always lived in Canada, I have dual nationality, not as if that’s any of your business. So, when I say “my lads” I mean all of them.”

Bucky buried himself in the papers, deliberately not looking up at the confrontation, but Brock’s cool sneer inferred that he was entirely unmoved by Stark’s warning. The sharp scent of Alpha confrontation developing between the two was unmistakable.

“So, if there are no further questions, gentlemen?”

Bucky scrambled to his feet and gave a prompt salute, avoiding eye contact with either of them.

On their way out, he noticed a very pretty brunette Beta lady in uniform rise smartly from her chair. “Airmen Barnes and Rumlow?” she asked, in a cut glass English accent. “I’m WAAF officer Carter. I’m here to give you an orientation tour and help you get used to life in your new home.”

“Some home this is”, muttered Brock under his breath. Usually, an inappropriate whiff of Alpha arousal would have accompanied his handshake with a pretty girl, but thankfully Brock remained distracted by the confrontation in Stark’s office.

“Please call me Bucky. And it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Officer Carter returned Bucky’s smile and nodded as they shook hands but she didn’t reply, clearly unnerved by the thunderous look on Brock’s face.

“Don’t mind him”, said Bucky. “He’s just nursing his wounded pride. He’ll be okay in a little while.”

“Oh well…” she said, uneasily, “I’d better start off with a brief tour I suppose. This is the main hut as I’m sure you’ll have worked out. The training room and most of the offices are in here, together with the kitchen…well, when I say kitchen, I mean the stove where we make the tea.”

“No coffee?”

Officer Carter cocked her head and flashed Bucky an indulgent smile. “There’s no call for such exotic beverages here, airman.”

 

-*-

 

By evening, Brock’s sulk had eased and he insisted on taking a taxi back into the city to sample the local pubs. If the elderly vicar’s intelligence was correct, Brock would most likely be attempting to tick off a good number of those 365 hostelries on his first night. He pointedly didn’t invite Bucky to join him, which was fine by Bucky, who was much too preoccupied by the technical drawings of the Halifax to break off for anything. When the schematics finally began to blur in front of his face, he knew it was probably time to turn in. 

He glanced at his watch. Nearly midnight. Well, at least he was so tired that the lumpy narrow mattress was unlikely to bother him too much. Peggy (Officer Carter had disclosed her first name once Brock was out of earshot) had explained that most of the air crews had friends, relatives or sweethearts in the local area with whom they stayed, and the bunkhouse was usually empty except for crew catching a rest between missions. Bucky didn’t know anybody in the city to stay with. He was just grateful for anywhere to rest his head just now.

 

-*-

 

“I’m sorry dad”

George Barnes was shaking his head at him sadly.

“You’ve disappointed me terribly, son. I never thought you’d turn out to be a yellow-bellied coward.”

Bucky gulped.

“I know that you think you aren’t responsible, but you are responsible. All Alphas have a responsibility to protect the vulnerable, but you were too cowardly to challenge that Alpha when he used the Voice.”

Bucky looked over at his twin sister.

“You know how much I love you”, she said sadly. “But dad is right. You’ve brought shame on our family. I don’t want to speak to you ever again Bucky…Bucky…”

 ....

“Bucky?”

Bucky jolted awake from a rough shake. He immediately tensed as he looked up.

“Peggy?”

“Come on. Get yourself up, washed and dressed this instant. You need to go over to Stark’s office right away He’s madder than hell right now, and the quicker you get to him the easier he’ll be on you.”

“Have I…” Bucky’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He didn’t really need to ask the question. He’d had dreams like that before; dreams that weren’t exactly true, but were harbingers of doom-laden things to come.

In less than ten minutes he was saluting smartly at Squadron Leader Stark’s desk, his neck bared to the side in a humble gesture of contrition.

“Take a seat”, Stark grunted ungraciously.

Bucky obeyed.

“Now, before this all turns into a circus, I’d very much like to know the full story behind this.” Stark lobbed a folded newspaper into Bucky’s lap.

Bucky smoothed it open. It was yesterday local newspaper, the York Evening Press. The bold black letters of the headline passed a judgement even stronger than his family had in the dream.

 

**AMERICAN TROOPS MAIM LOCAL CRIPPLE**

 

Bucky wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. But he believed in his dreams. His dad had said he was a coward for not taking responsibility. He'd avoided it then, but he wouldn’t avoid it now.

“Airman Rumlow used the Voice on a vulnerable railway worker yesterday sir. It was a very shameful incident. It was obvious that the worker had severe physical disabilities and yet he made that man carry his bag. Although I protested verbally, I did not physically challenge my colleague to a fight and was subsequently knocked unconscious by him when I continued to protest. For my cowardice in the face of Alpha threat I consider myself equally responsible for this appalling act.”

Stark nodded. “That’s pretty much what the local police said when they called me earlier this morning. They arrested Rumlow for drunk and disorderly conduct last night and recognised his description from the victim’s statement. I’d like to say he made a full confession, but apparently there was precious little confession and rather a lot of boasting and bluster”. Stark shook his head. “I must say, the two of you seem most unlikely travelling companions. How do you even know this Alpha anyway, Barnes?”

“I don’t, sir. We were just assigned here together. That’s all I know. I’ve tried to be friendly and accommodating to him, but he’s…well, it’s not my place…”

“Allow me to categorically assure you that it is”, insisted Stark, a barely veiled threat tainting the tone of his voice.

“Well, he’s not acted honourably at any point since I’ve met him. He’s cheated, whored and insulted his way here, but even I was surprised when he used the Voice. I protested in the strongest possible terms at the time, but a protest’s no good against a man like that. We both know I should have fought him, even if it had resulted in death or permanent injury. What he did was wrong and I was too much of a coward to stop him.”

Stark paused for a moment to consider that.

“Would you object to providing the local police with a statement to that effect?”

“I’d be only too glad to do so sir. I appreciate what a difficult political situation this places you in, and if there’s anything I can do to make things easier, then you have my immediate and unquestioning compliance.”

Stark couldn’t mistake the scent of Bucky’s sincere contrition. His lips twitched into a begrudging smile. “That’s appreciated, Barnes. You’re a good chap and whilst you’re clearly not proud of your actions, you should at least be proud of your attitude. Out of respect for our delicate diplomatic position, the police have agreed to wait outside the camp. I’d strongly suggest you go out to them and explain this situation as fully and frankly as you have to me. Officer Carter has kindly volunteered to accompany you to help you with any legal questions should they arise. Once they’ve come to a decision about you, then I’ll make my own recommendations to Thurleigh based on this conversation and the evidence I’ve gathered from third parties. Now, are we quite clear?”

“Crystal clear. Thank you, sir.”

“Then, good luck to you, Barnes. I get the distinct feeling you’re going to need it.”

 


	4. Parade

Well, I think that covers just about everything”, said the detective. “I don’t doubt your story. It corroborates with everything else, including the testimony from the taxi driver. And I certainly don’t doubt your identity. But nonetheless, for the record, I’m going to have to ask that you take part in an identity parade. In a case as delicate as this one, we have to be absolutely certain of everything.”

“I’m happy to do whatever’s necessary to assist you, officer.”

The detective smiled. “I wish all the people who pass through my hands were as co-operative as you, sir. You er…do appreciate that the alleged victim will need to be present during this procedure?”

Bucky hesitated. He wasn’t sure he could face this poor man again. But there was no getting around it. He’d been responsible. He had to accept the consequences of his actions, or rather his lack of them.

A few minutes later, he was standing in a line-up so surreal, it would have actually been funny had the circumstances not been so serious. No doubt the police had precious few men left to choose from, so he literally stood out head and shoulders above the rest. And that didn’t even take account of for the lingering stench of Alpha shame orbiting around him that he couldn’t very well disguise. Bucky simply couldn’t believe he was standing here. That dream had been a sobering premonition of the truth; his family would be mortified if they could see him in this position. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to swallow down the sick feeling twisting his stomach into queasy knots.

Then suddenly he felt a finger brush against the back of his hand. He tentatively opened his eyes. In front of him, and about a foot below, the slender man from the station platform looked back up at him. He wore a buttercream shirt that accentuated his lustrous golden hair and tan pants, held up by suspenders. Without the outsized railwayman’s uniform, he looked ever smaller and frailer than Bucky remembered him. A livid mottled weal on his right cheek, presumably inflicted by Brock, made Bucky wince. His baby blue eyes seemed too big his face, each pupil dilating, but not from fear.  His delicate features formed into a genuine smile.

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay”, he whispered up to Bucky with such gentleness, before he turned back to the detective. “This is definitely the gentleman”, he said.

“Thank you, sir.”

He hobbled away from the line-up towards the shadowy horizon beyond. Bucky heard the rhythmic taps of his walking sticks pause, followed by an exchange of hushed whispers. A few moments later, Bucky was led back to a holding cell.

 

“So how was it?” asked Peggy.

“Difficult to tell. I’ve never been in this position before. I never did so much as pick a penny up off the floor my whole life. My folks would be so ashamed of me.”

Peggy placed her hand on his. “I can’t pretend I’ve a lot of experience of how criminal justice works either”, she confessed. “But I could tell right away you were a good chap. You’ve just got to have a little faith in yourself. I gather there’s going to be a series of discussions about what will happen now that they’ve gathered all their evidence. That…may take some time.”

“I’ll be counting every second of it”, he shuddered.

Peggy smiled. “I thought you might say that, so I brought you a little something to help you take your mind off things.”

She handed Bucky a sheaf of papers

“The Halifax schematics?”

“I could only fetch the material that isn’t classified, but at least you can get on with some of your research while you wait.”

“Is it even worth it though? Squadron Leader Stark probably won’t want me back after this.”

Peggy shrugged. “You could worry about that, certainly, but worrying’s like sitting in a rocking chair. It’s a way of passing the time of course, but it won’t actually get you anywhere. At least now you’ve got the option of passing that time more effectively.”

Sure enough, Bucky didn’t even notice that nearly four hours had elapsed until he glanced up at the clock in the interview room he’d been shown into.

 

“Well now, Senior airman Barnes”, said the detective. “It appears that this is indeed your lucky day. The victim has agreed not to press any charges against you.”

“What? Why?”, he blurted, without even thinking.

“He believes you weren’t in a position where you could have helped his cause further without getting into a fight that would have resulted in one or other of you lying dead on the platform, and distressing though the situation was for him, he did at least survive the ordeal.”

“Oh God.” Bucky began to sob tears of relief and gratitude. At length he asked, “Can I at least thank him?”

“I’m sure that would be a nice gesture if he was agreeable to such a meeting, but the victim set no conditions that compel you to do so. You’re completely free to go, sir. Thank you very much for assisting us so fully with our enquiries.”

Peggy was waiting for him outside.

“Didn’t I tell you to have a little faith?”

Bucky smiled sadly. “You were right, but I still feel terrible.”

“Not as terrible as Rumlow must be feeling right now”

“Feeling? I don’t wish to seem uncharitable, but I doubt he knows the meaning of the word.”

“Just because the local police can’t actually press charges against him on account of his nationality doesn’t mean they won’t protest in the strongest possible terms to Squadron Leader Stark in his capacity as the official US Air Force contact in these parts.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “And what does that mean, exactly?”

“Well, I can’t predict your country’s justice system any better than my own”, said Peggy. “But I’ll eat my peaked cap if he isn’t recalled home in disgrace immediately and brought before a court martial. And, irrespective of the outcome of that, it’s hardly likely to be a pleasant experience.”

Bucky cast his eyes to the ground.

“I know you won’t ask, because you’re not the kind to think about saving his own skin, but Stark’s authorised me to tell you that he considers you entirely blameless in this affair. Nothing deleterious to your future promotional prospects will be attached to your record.”

“That’s not good enough”, grumbled Bucky. “I know what I did. And it was wrong, Peggy. I should have tried to stop Rumlow even if he’d killed me for it.”

“And then who would have shown us how to pilot the new Halifaxes?”

Bucky burst out laughing, betraying more than a hint of hysteria in his tone.

“That’s better. You needed to let off a little steam.”

“Thanks Peggy. Listen, the detective said it might be possible for me to get permission to apologise to the victim. Do you think that would be a good idea?”

“Do you think it would help you feel better about all this?”

“Probably”

“Do you think it would help him feel better too?”

“I…well, I don’t know. I hope so. That’s why I’d need to ask permission, I guess. If he didn’t want me to talk to him, then he’d say, wouldn’t he?”

“It’s a free country”, she agreed.

Bucky didn’t mention what the man had said to him in the identify parade, or the strange look in his eyes. He didn’t dare to think what that could mean, beyond the reassurance that asking permission wouldn’t be rejected out of hand.

“Could you help me find out how I can contact him?”

Now it was Peggy’s turn to burst out laughing.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Did you even read that newspaper?”

“No”, he admitted. “The headlines were all I needed to see.”

“So, you wouldn’t have turned to the editorial, then?”

Bucky shook his head.

“The editorial, written personally from the victim’s point of view. Rumlow only used the Voice on a certain Steve Rogers, one of the reporters for the York Evening Press. So, if you want to contact him, just write in to the newspaper!”

Bucky didn’t care for the idea of writing a personal letter that might end up in print, but then again, he wasn’t sure Peggy had got the right man anyway. “But he can’t be a newspaper reporter”, he explained. “When I saw him at the station, he was dressed in a railway guard’s uniform.”

“Reporting for a local paper isn’t exactly a full-time job. I’m pretty sure he works for the railways as well.”

“But…how do you know all this?”

“Because I’m his wife.”

“WHAT?!” screeched Bucky, practically at the top of his voice.

“I’m just joking”, she sniggered. “He’s written about his experiences of fire watching at the railway station and it’s the railway employees that are responsible for that. Your reaction was pretty revealing though”, she smiled, with an upward sweep of her eyebrows.

 

-*-

 

The next few days passed in a flurry of activity. If Bucky had been the kind to deliver terrible puns, he might have said they had ‘flown by’. Seeing the enormous frame of the Halifax up close triggered his keen desire to know even more, and the detailed tinkering began in earnest. Even the ground crew, who usually considered pilots technically sub-par, weren't able to disguise their admiration for his diligence and tenacity. Within 48 hours, the conversion flight was in the air practicing increasingly complex manoeuvres.

"They're doing well, aren't they sir?"

Stark grunted approval from the side of the landing strip to his WAAF officer. "You gave me very sound advice about Barnes, Officer Carter. That one's a keeper."

"For as long as he survives combat duties, anyway", she added soberly.

“Well, quite.” The Squadron Leader nodded and strode back to his office.

 


	5. Lady Luck

(A close-up of one of the mirrors etched by Canadian Airmen at Betty's Café in York. These mirrors have been preserved and Canadian war veterans and their families still regularly visit the café to view them.)

 

 

“I’d no idea this old girl could move so smoothly.”

Flight Lieutenant Clint Barton of the Royal Canadian Air Force didn’t have the kind of mouth that lent itself to smiling. A flat line of grim determination punctuated his face for much of the time, but today his grin was so wide, Bucky felt sure he’d be getting face-ache.

Bucky briefly checked the controls of the Halifax bomber were in order as they came to a halt. “So, what were you flying before this?”

“Wellingtons. Don’t get me wrong, they’re damn sturdy. They can take a lot of flak. But if you’d have tried any of those fancy moves with one, you’d have snapped the fuselage in two. Are your B17’s as nimble as this in the air?”

Bucky sucked a breath of air between his teeth, buying time to think up a diplomatic reply. “They’re better designed in my opinion, but then I would say that wouldn’t I? They’re also better armed than the Halifax, with a greater range and a much greater payload, but there’s always a trade-off. At a glance, the Halifax might seem like an ungainly hunk of metal but it’s a real flying machine; the B17 can’t match that.”

Clint laughed and clapped Bucky on the back. “Boldly spoken, my friend. You’re an honest fellow, and a handsome one too if you don’t mind my saying so. If you’re ever thinking of fleeing north of the border when you get back home, my best buddy’s sister has a weakness for brunets with your build. She’s real pretty, and no doubt she’d look even prettier wearing your mating bite.”

Bucky smiled shyly “Thanks for the offer, Clint, but I’m a New York City boy. Besides, my tastes are somewhat different.”

“Ah…I’m sorry”

“Sorry?”

“Even though they’re not my particular cup of tea, I’ve heard how truly special Omega boys can be, but they’re pretty much all gone now. I hate to see you fishing an empty pond.”

“I’ll survive”, shrugged Bucky. “And you never know, maybe Lady luck will smile on me.”

“Brilliant!”, Clint exclaimed. “That’s exactly what I’m gonna call her!”

“Who?”

“This Halifax, MY Halifax. I’m gonna name her, ‘Lady Luck’ for you.”

Bucky snorted. “It’s not a lady I’m fishing for.”

“Hey, whose bomber is this, buddy?”

“Oh, she’s all yours ‘old boy!’”, said Bucky, deliberately mangling an English accent.

Clint smirked. “Tell you what? How about we take a trip to the city on Saturday and I treat you to something nice at Betty’s as a little thank you for all the work you’ve put in with the conversion flight? I can get my cup of tea anywhere, but Betty’s might just be the only place in the whole of York you might get your precious cup of coffee!”

 

-*-

 

“Oh, now this is posh with a capital “P”. I’m officially impressed.”

Betty’s was something of an institution in York; a café of such pedigree that, even in the austerity of war, it stayed busy. To begin with, Bucky was puzzled by the seating arrangements. The few British patrons rich enough to frequent the place were seated in the middle, whilst the Canadian flyers seemed relegated to the edges. For a moment, he thought some form of bizarre discrimination was occurring, until he noticed the edges of the café were lined with full length mirrors, which the crews were busy etching their names onto.

“And what can I get you, gentlemen?” asked a pretty young Omega waitress.

“Oh my”, blushed Clint.

“What I think he means is that he’d like a pot of tea for one”, interpreted Bucky.

“Not for two?”

“I was sorta hoping you might have coffee?” The young lady’s face fell. “Is…is that not possible?”, his voice quavered.

“I’m…not entirely sure sir. We haven’t had any coffee deliveries since the summer of ’39. There’s no way of getting supplies anymore.” She smiled. “But I’ll see what we can do.”

Bucky nudged Clint, who’d dutifully closed his eyes to prevent his building up a scent betraying less than honourable intentions. It was refreshing to finally have a companion who didn’t immediately betray his primitive desires towards anything that caught his sexual interest.

“It’s okay, she’s gone now. And your tea’s on its way.”

For a minute or so, Clint cast disparaging looks at the vandalism surrounding them.

“Why don’t the staff put a stop to them doing that?” he wondered aloud.

“Oh, we’d never do that” answered the young waitress, who’d swiftly returned with Clint’s tea and a suspicious-smelling mug of brown liquid for Bucky.

“Why not?”

“Well, firstly, they’re our guests and secondly…well…a lot of these boys never come back again”, she added, sadly. “It would be very wrong to stop them making a mark on the world when it’s probably the last time they’ll ever get to do that.”

That sobering observation had the desired effect on Clint’s libido, but one suspicious scent had been replaced by another. Bucky sniffed at the brown liquid with distaste.

“I hope you won’t be offended by my question Miss, but what…what exactly IS this?”

“Don’t ask”, she said, making a face. “You might not like it, so it’s on the house.”

Starved of caffeine for more than a week, Bucky took a big gulp, and immediately spat the foul overly-sweet chemical concoction all down his front.

“Ugh…I’m dying”, he gagged, as Clint roared with laughter.

  

-*-

 

“I look like a complete idiot”, groaned Bucky

“You couldn’t very well go outside with your uniform in that condition”, said Clint “But I’ve seen folks wearing this gear in public before. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Oh, you think so?” said Bucky sarcastically. “In that case, how’s about I borrow your uniform and you wear this?”

“Impossible”, huffed Clint “You’d be impersonating an officer from a foreign country, and of higher rank.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

Bucky shuffled out of the toilet cubicle clad in a greasy olive-green boiler suit, the breast pocket emblazoned with the words “Red Star Oil”, complete with a logo in the shape of a red star high up on the left shoulder.

“There, you see? Wasn’t it nice of the waitress to find that for you? You look absolutely fine! Now, when will my automobile be ready?” he snickered.

“Smartass”, murmured Bucky.

“Actually, it’s pretty dumb of me,” shrugged Clint. “Let’s face it, you only see hackeys and military vehicles on the streets around here. There aren’t any private cars to repair anymore.”

“Yeah, but it’s hard to ignore the bicycles”

Bucky thought back to the seething mass of bicycles he’d noticed leaning against the bollards and railings in nearby Parliament Street on their way to the café. He’d didn’t think he’d ever seen so many in one spot before.

“The Vale of York is pretty flat. Cars are expensive and gas…sorry, I mean ‘petrol’ is strictly rationed”, said Clint “It makes a lot of sense to pedal your way about, I guess.”

Sure enough, as they headed out of Betty’s into the late morning sunshine, Clint practically walked into the path of a cyclist who rang her bell at him in insistently.

“Sorry ma’am”, he rattled off, before turning right into the path of another.

“Watch where you’re going, soldier”, barked an annoyed middle-aged lady, as she weaved her way past Clint, with an overladen shopping basket at the front of her bicycle.

“Canadian tourists”, snorted Bucky dismissively.

“Hey, just because you’re dressed as a civilian doesn’t give you the right to sass me, Barnes!”

“No? Well what does it give me the right to do?”

“Well, since you’re dressed as a local, why don’t we go down ‘the local’?”

 

From the front, the Royal Oak on Goodramgate looked the same as the rest of the crooked timber-fronted buildings crammed higgledy-piggledy into that narrow street, but once they’d got grown accustomed to the interior gloom of small windows and tobacco smoke, Bucky thought he’d gone back in time. The roaring log fire in the chimney breast looked like something straight out of a medieval history book, as did the dark oak tables and benches. The place was pretty crowded with lunchtime drinkers; almost exclusively older men standing around in groups of three or four. Bucky could scent a companionable mix of Beta scent punctuated by the occasional mature Alpha, and all conciliated by the dense aroma of smoke and stale ale. There was something timeless and soothing about it all, as if generations of locals had sat and gossiped about much the same things day in, day out, for a thousand years or more.

“Not many flight crews come in here”, explained Clint, handing Bucky a pint of warm beer topped by a feeble froth. “They prefer to be around their own kind. I like to come in here to think. No-one ever bothers you.”

“I like it.” Bucky sipped at the bitter ale, finding it surprisingly refreshing, despite its room temperature. “Is it always this busy?”

“Well that’s the funny thing about British pubs. They’re divided into two rooms, a bar and a snug. The bar’s where the men drink and socialise, as you can see.” Clint nodded in the direction of the crowd.

“And the snug?”

“That’s the ‘best room’ where tradition dictates the gentlemen go courting with their mates. I had a glance inside this one, a month or so back. Not quite as fancy as Betty’s you understand, but certainly a cut above this place. Of course, it’s empty now. On some evenings, one of the older men might take his mate in there because it’s not considered proper for ladies and Omega boys to frequent the common bar area, but the practical upshot is that the bar’s always crowded and the snug’s always deserted. Maybe when the war is over, the two rooms’ll even themselves out again, who knows?”

Bucky sighed. Clint was right; he was fishing in an empty pond.

“Speaking of rooms”, added Clint “I gotta visit the little boy’s room. Don’t let anyone drink my beer while I’m gone, will ya?”

Bucky tried to shake off the empty feeling. What was it they said about feeling alone in a crowded room? Well this place certainly was crowded. For a moment, he tried to pick out a conversation from amongst the general murmur, but it was quite impossible. All the men sounded alike. That was until he heard a female voice ring out from behind the bar.

“Well, hello there stranger. We’ve missed you this past week. How’re you doing?”

The striking red-haired landlady who’d served Clint had turned her back to the bar customers and was looking out into the snug beyond. She must have raised her voice so she could be heard in the other room. That wasn’t difficult. Like most barkeeps, she had a voice that could cut through sheet metal.

“Can I get you a Gin and It?” she called out, and then, “You sure? You really don’t have to do that you know, sweetheart.”

The next thing he noticed was that the men in the far corner of the room all moved back a little without needing to be asked. He could hear a few of them raising their voices in friendly greeting, but the crowd made it impossible to see what was going on. Then, a few moments later, he heard the unmistakable honky-tonk sound of a bar piano. Bucky smiled. He must have missed the instrument in the smoky gloom, but at least they now had entertainment. And this piano player was good, damn good. He recognised the first tune from his youth; something from an old musical or an early talkie he guessed. He was trying to place where he knew it from when Clint re-joined him.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention this place sometimes has a piano player at weekends. I never asked what kind of music you were into, Bucky. I prefer swing myself, but this fellah’s pretty good with ragtime.”

“It’s older stuff certainly,” Bucky conceded “But I like a bit of nostalgia. Makes me think of the movies I watched with my folks as a kid.”

“C’mon, let’s get a bit closer”, said Clint, downing the last dregs of his pint. “Fancy another one?”

Bucky nodded as they sidled up towards the bar. The landlady was smiling benignly down at the piano player as her customers applauded their appreciation.

“Can I have a request, my dear?” she asked, once the applause died down. “Would you sing me your sunshine song?”

“If that’s what you’d like, Auntie Nat”, came a shy gentle voice that Bucky instantly recognised.

He looked over. The piano stool had been pulled out at a sharp angle to allow the young man to sit side-saddle to accommodate his leg braces. Bucky froze. The man hadn’t recognised him, but then, why would he? He was one face in a sea of faces and he wasn’t even wearing his military uniform.

“All right”, he said to the customers “Here’s an old song with a fresh purpose. Whenever your life’s getting hard, always remember to paint your clouds with sunshine”

With a deft flick of the wrists, his nimble fingers skittered over the keys and he began to sing:

 

_“This life’s a play from the start_

_It’s hard to play through a part_

_When there’s an ache in your heart all day_

_I have my dreams till the dawn_

_I wake to find they are gone_

_But still “the play must go on”, they say_

_When I pretend I'm gay_

_I never feel that way_

_I'm only painting the clouds with sunshine_

_When I hold back a tear_

_To make a smile appear_

_I'm only painting the clouds with sunshine_

_Painting the blues, beautiful hues_

_Coloured with gold and old rose_

_Playing the clown, trying to drown all of my woes_

_Though things may not look bright_

_They'll all turn out all right_

_If I keep painting the clouds with sunshine”_

 

 

Bucky had been right about that voice, it was melodious. The young man sang like an angel and his golden hair formed the most exquisite halo.

Bucky was captivated. He clung to every syllable. By the second verse, Clint was nudging him with his pint, but he couldn’t tear himself away.

As the song finally ended, Clint pressed the pint roughly into his hand. “You still with me, Barnes? I was holding your delicious pint for so long; you nearly lost your drink there!”

“My drink?”, queried Bucky. Suddenly a flash of inspiration hit him, or maybe a gentle nudge from Clint’s ‘Lady Luck’. “Yes! You’re a genius, Clint.”, he exclaimed.

Bucky headed over to the landlady, who did a double-take at his unusual outfit.

 

-*-

 

“Here you go.”

Bucky placed the glass he’d been carefully balancing on the polished mahogany top of the piano until the last song was over, in the young man’s hands.

“Gin and It. How marvellous! But…how did you know?” He looked up, and immediately blushed shyly.

“Oh…it’s…it’s you.”

“Sorry”, Bucky apologised “I messed up my uniform earlier.”

“That doesn’t matter. I’d recognise you anywhere”

Bucky gulped. “Is that…a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Honestly, I..I don’t know…” he stammered.

“May I speak with you, please?”

The young man nodded and levered himself up from the piano stool with his walking sticks.

“I’m taking a break, Auntie Nat.” he called out.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart”

Bucky carried their drinks into the snug, and placed them on the table once they were sat down.

Bucky had an itchy feeling, the scent of Alpha nerves leaked from the collar of his boiler suit.

“Hey hey…” the young man soothed, subtly scenting the air. “It’s okay…”

“It’s not okay,” said Bucky. “What happened to you will NEVER be okay.” He pulled himself up. This wasn’t about him and his guilt. “Are YOU okay?”

“I had a few cuts and bruises and I was very sore. I had to go to the hospital for a check-up on my lungs and I needed to take a few days off work to recover fully. But I’m fine now. I’m Steve by the way, Steve Rogers.”

“Bucky Barnes,” Bucky extended a hand, but it seemed somehow inappropriate. He didn’t know if he should shake hands or rub noses or kiss or what. Greetings tended to depend on gender, but – just as before – Bucky couldn’t detect even the faintest trace of a scent on Steve at all. In the event, Steve didn’t shake his hand so much as stroke a couple of fingers across the palm. Bucky bit his lip to distract his arousal instincts going into overdrive.

Steve giggled lightly.

“What?”

“What kind of name is Bucky, anyway?”

“Ah…well you see there was an American President called James Buchanan and my parents named me after him and, well, they made a pet name out of my middle name you see and…”  Bucky’s words drifted off. He could tell he was rambling and the amused look on Steve’s face was far too distracting for him to string words together in a way that made sense any more.

“Well, I think it’s awfully sweet. Anything ending with a ‘y’ is sweet”

Bucky’s face must have turned furnace red because Steve grinned. “You’re adorable when you blush, you know that?”

“Aw shucks, you don’t make it easy for a guy to apologise.”

“But don’t you see, I’m trying to distract you from all that?”

“Well, you’re sure distracting me.”

“I don’t know why you’re wanting to apologise anyway. It was the other fellow. You didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly. I didn’t do anything. I should have done more to help you. You should never have had the voice used on you.”

“Would you be saying that if I weren’t…” Steve’s voice hushed into an embarrassed whisper as he looked down at his legs. “If I weren’t in this condition?”

“Yes”, said Bucky vehemently. “To use the Voice on anyone is a terrible crime. I just didn’t want to get hurt by stopping it, but you got hurt because I let that happen.”

“But you challenged him and he knocked you out.”

“I should have fought him. I should have killed him.”

Steve winced with distaste. “Oh please, none of this gung-ho Alpha posturing. I expected better of you.”

Bucky was stunned by that reaction.

“You’re a person, okay?” Steve explained pointedly. “You’re not defined by your gender any more than I’m defined by my lack of it, or my disability. So, stop being so damned two-dimensional.”

With a challenge that deep, Bucky withdrew to the strength of his father’s words. “My folks taught me that Alphas should be responsible for others. To be loving and protective”, he grumbled.

“And that’s a wonderful thing. But how is challenging someone in a fight to the death being responsible? There’s at least an even chance you’d get killed and you can’t love or protect anyone if you’re dead, now can you?”

“I was a coward. Cowardice isn’t honourable.”

Steve shook his head sadly and sipped at his Gin and It. “Look. You’re talking to me right now, when you could have been in your grave. Do you really want to throw your life away that badly?”

Bucky stewed in sullen silence.

Steve bit his lip. “I was rather hoping that, since you’re still alive and you bought me a drink that perhaps you wanted to move on and get to know me better, but…”

“Hold on…you…you want to get to know me?”

“If I haven’t scared you off already then yes, why not? You’re really very sweet and the fact that you’re so intent on being this responsible for me is charming, if a touch overwhelming since it’s not something I’m accustomed to.”

Bucky grinned wide. “I can do responsible. I’m big on responsibility.”

“Yes, I rather gathered that”, said Steve. “But are you just as responsible with yourself?”

“I don’t think I follow?”

Steve looked down at the table as he spoke. “I…I know you’re in the armed forces. I don’t need to know any more of course. Careless talk costs lives and all that, but…soldiers fight, and soldiers die. If we start getting to know each other, well…I mean…are you going to look after yourself?”

“It’s not a secret for me to tell you that I’m a flyer, and yes lots of people die in wars, but I promise you I’ll try my level best not to die on you, if that’s what you mean?”

Steve ventured a shy smile, his baby blue eyes flashing brightly.

“So, can I ask YOU a question now?” said Bucky.

Steve sighed heavily. “All right, let’s get this out of the way. It’s Polio okay? I got it when I was seven years old. My mum’s a nurse so she blamed herself for passing it to me from the hospital, but that’s complete rubbish of course. She cared for me and got me the best treatment she could. It’s true that my legs aren’t good for much anymore and my heart and lungs aren’t as strong as other people’s, but your President Roosevelt has the same condition, and he’s still going strong. I promise I’ll try my best not to die on you either. How’s that?”

Bucky shook his head. Steve must have got asked that question so many times, and his rapid-fire answer revealed a lot about him, but…

“Er…that wasn’t my question.”

Steve blushed fiercely. “Oh…what did you want to ask, then?”

“I just wanted to know…what the devil IS a ‘Gin and It’?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Gaining popularity in the 1920s and 1930s, London Gin combined with sweet Italian Vermouth (popularly known as the ‘Gin and It’) gained a reputation for being a smart and sophisticated cocktail amongst discerning lady drinkers frequenting the snugs of British pubs. The increased availability of more complex cocktail recipes from America after the war, together with a preference for sweeter alcoholic drinks such as perries and related champagne substitutes in the 1970s, finally consigned the ‘Gin and It’ to a brief footnote in the history of pub culture.
> 
> A reminder: You can listen to a vintage piano roll of the song: 'Painting the clouds with sunshine' played in the pub piano style (with lyrics), at the following YouTube link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8XFvCcGVNfY


	6. Sunshine boy

This episode is the first to feature 'Spitfire', my OCC (Original Cat Character) Here's a copyright free photographic rendition of him!

 

 

“Warn me the next time you sneak into the snug, will you?”

“Sorry”, muttered Bucky sheepishly, as he and Clint strolled back towards the taxi rank.

“It’s okay; I guessed you were doing a spot of fishing, but I never imagined you’d get lucky so quickly. Did that boiler suit accentuate the size of your fishing rod or something?” Clint snickered.

Bucky shook his head. “You and your smutty Alpha mind.”

Clint’s smile quickly faded when he looked over at his colleague. “That’s not a happy face. What’s wrong?”

Bucky sighed. “I…I don’t know how to put this…”

“He turned you down?”

“No, no he didn’t. He put me in my place all right, which, if I’m being honest, I kinda liked…a lot…” Bucky blushed.

Clint grinned wide. “So, what’s your problem then?”

“Did you scent him?”

“Wrong gender for me, old boy.”

“And maybe the wrong gender for me too”, sighed Bucky.

“Huh?”

“He said he didn’t have a gender.”

Clint paused a moment, then nodded.

“Ah…I’m guessing no scent trail, huh?”

Bucky shook his head by way of confirmation.

“Then, I guess he’s asexual”, said Clint. “It’s not all that common, but I’ve come across it before. When I was twelve, a girl in my class nearly died of diphtheria. She never developed a scent trail either.”

“It’s caused by illness then?”

“No, not always. Sometimes it just happens, like all genders happen, I guess. Most people present their gender as Alpha, Beta or Omega at puberty, like you and me did, but y’know some people just don’t, that’s all. That doesn’t make it a bad thing.”

Bucky winced. “Sorry, I don’t mean it to sound that way. I just…well…I’m really drawn to him but what happens if you develop sexual feelings for an asexual? Is that even possible?”

“Sure, it is”, Clint reassured him. “Many asexuals develop close friendships, even romantic feelings, just the same as everybody else. It’s just they don’t have the same primal instinct to mate, that’s all. Why? Are you that intent on knotting him?”

“No”, Bucky protested. “No, it’s not like that at all. It’s just…” he sighed “It’s just so damn complicated. I don’t know what to do or say without offending him. Maybe I’d have been better not going and asking him out.”

“Buddy, you’re putting way too much pressure on all of this. Just go out with him and have a swell time. If you stop worrying and just be yourself, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

 

-*-

 

“So, who was the big strong Alpha, huh?”

Steve cocked an eyebrow, as he helped rinse the glasses behind the bar. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Auntie dearest?”

“Well he’s certainly not a representative of Red Star Oil, that’s for certain.”

“Nope. He spilled coffee down his uniform apparently. The girls at Betty’s found that for him in lost property.”

Nat cocked an eyebrow. “Well, that certainly solves the mystery. Your Uncle Dmitri was always losing things. Now I come to think of it, I do seem to remember him heading over there to repair a couple of their radiators last May.”

Steve nodded gravely. Although his Uncle’s parents had fled the mother country shortly after the revolution, Dmitri Romanov had been a proud Russian patriot. After losing his job at Red Star Oil when the war broke out, Nat’s husband had been one of the first to volunteer for the arctic convoys that supplied Soviet forces with food and munitions. He set off with a cheery wave to Nat one late August evening in 1941, but never came back. A Royal Navy minesweeper retrieved the wreckage of a submerged lifeboat bearing the name of his merchant vessel off the east coast of Scotland two months later.

“You want me to ask him to let you have the overalls back?”, Steve asked his Aunt.

“That’d be nice. Doubtless his scent faded from them long ago, but it would be comforting to have something that he wore. I have so little to remember your Uncle Dimitri by.” Nat sighed heavily, as she tucked the bar stools away. “But anyway, enough of my tears. Tell me about this gorgeous hunk of a man?”

“Well, that’s a whole other story. It was his friend who used the Voice on me.”

Nat gasped. “That bastard. You should have let me know. I’d have spat in his beer…or worse.”

Steve snickered. “That’s for your support, Auntie dearest, but I can fight my own battles as well you know. Besides,” he added “That’s the Alpha who tried to save me. He’s one of the good guys.”

“Canadian?”

“No, American apparently.”

“Oh…never could tell the difference in accents,” she admitted.

“Me neither, but I’ll have to try and learn I suppose. He’s asked me out next Saturday.”

“You shameless floozy! I’ll go tell your mother and make mischief.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. It’ll be hard enough trying to explain it to her. You know how protective she is.”

“Well, my sister always was a bit of a mother hen; makes a better nurse of her. But she only does it for your own good, you know that.”

“I know”, mumbled Steve.

“Tell you what?” Nat said brightly, re-joining her nephew behind the bar “Why don’t you have your date here? That way, she’ll never even have to know.”

“You know I couldn’t lie to her. That’d really upset her”

“Well, at least let me help smooth things over. I really know how to twist my big sis round my little finger.”

“Now there’s an offer too good to refuse. That’d be great if you could please?

She nodded.

“Thanks, Auntie Nat.”

Steve planted a big sloppy kiss on her cheek

“But please, Steve. At least bring him here. That way, the drinks are on the house.”

“And you can spy on us.”

“Well, how else am I going to convince your mother to let you date this boy?”

 

-*-

 

_“Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run_

_Don't give the farmer his fun, fun, fun_

_He'll get by without his rabbit pie_

_So run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run”_

 

Bucky looked around him in utter bewilderment as his Canadian colleagues began to bawl out in unison that evening as their dinner appeared in the mess hut.

“C’mon”, hollered Clint over the din. “Don’t you know the words to the song?”

Bucky shook his head

Peggy ladled out a steaming bowl from the saucepan on their table and handed it over to Bucky. “Rabbit stew with dumplings, dontcha see?”

“And plenty of carrots”, added Clint. “So that we DO see. You know what this means, don’tcha Barnes?”

 “No?” Bucky felt like he was the rabbit, trapped in the headlights.

“It means we’re starting up our night missions again”, said Peggy. “Stark signed the squadron off as officially operational this afternoon. Your training’s worked out great.”

“So, up we buzz”, cheered Clint

“I feel like I’ve wandered into a ‘Boy’s own adventure story’, Bucky groaned, as Peggy slipped away from the table.

“Aren’t you a bit old for reading comic books?” asked Clint

“Aren’t you a bit old for turning them into reality?”

“Oh, touché”, drawled Clint “Well, speaking of being too old…”

The mess hall erupted into song once more, but this time to a tune Bucky was much more familiar with, as Peggy re-emerged with a haphazardly frosted Birthday cake with a handful of candles jammed on the top.

“A quarter of a century, Bucky”, laughed Peggy once the chorus of ‘Happy Birthday to you’ had died down. “You’re practically old enough to replace Stark.”

“How do you know my date of birth?” Bucky challenged.

“I act as Stark’s secretary, in addition to all my other duties cleaning up after you Alphas have had your tantrums. So, I know everything there is to know about you lot”, she quipped.

 

-*-

 

Steve sighed. “I hope you won’t mind my saying so, but you don’t look as entirely happy to be here as I’d imagined men were meant to be when they took someone on a first date…not as if I have a lot of experience of how that goes, you understand”, he added.

Bucky’s tried to smile as he handed Steve his “Gin and It.”

“No, don’t force it, whatever you do. If you’re unhappy I’d much rather know. Am I putting you off? Is it the disability thing?”

Bucky shook his head vehemently.

“Is it the gender thing?”

“No, it’s not that either. Though I don’t really understand that part, it’s not off-putting so much as, well…I don’t want to say or do the wrong thing, is all.”

“You can ask me anything you want, you know that, right?”

Bucky looked down into the froth on his ale, as if he could augury the secrets of the universe from it.

“But I’m guessing it’s not that either, is it? Not really?”

Bucky shook his head sadly.

“Then what?”

Steve gently took Bucky’s hand in his, stroking the knuckles gently with his thumb.

“What is it, Bucky? Please?”

Though he did feel he was tiptoeing through a minefield with Steve’s disability and asexuality, there was something magical about his voice, his gentle mannerisms and his proud heart which drew Bucky in like he’d been bewitched by the man. He dared to hope, and - through that risk - he dared to trust.

“It’s…it’s what I’m doing here in England. I’m so confused.”

Steve nodded an encouragement, continuing to stroke Bucky’s hand.

“I knew what I was letting myself in for, and I enjoyed training the other pilots but now that I’m actually about to go and do the job I was sent here to do…I don’t like it.”

“Is that any of this ‘job’, or just part of it?”

Bucky smiled bashfully. “Oh, I like caring for the crew, of course I do. It’s something I love doing. Protecting others comes naturally to Alph…” he brought himself up short, feeling around in the minefield “…it comes naturally to me. I just like doing it. But looking after a crew isn’t the primary objective you understand. The primary objective is the mission, and that’s just code for…” Bucky’s voice drained away.

“For dropping bombs on people”, Steve completed for him, grimly.

“Yeah…that.”

“I can see how much that upsets you. You’re right, it’s confusing. It doesn’t make sense. You’re keeping your crew safe at the same time as putting others in danger.”

“You understand”, Bucky nodded, sadly. “I…I don’t want you to think I’m a coward of anything. I’ll do what’s asked of me. Of course, I will.”

Steve shook his head “I don’t think you’re a coward, Bucky. I’d never think that. The cowards are the lucky ones who don’t give a thought or a care about what they’re doing. Being strong hurts sometimes.”

“So, what do I do about it?”

“You learn to live with the limitation, just like I’ve learned to live with the leg braces. What I can’t do is obvious but I’ve found lots of creative ways of working round my problems. You can’t get out of the mission either, but you can work around it by making it your personal mission to get everyone back home safely.”

“Well, I gotta admit, there’s no ‘plane flying that’s safer than the Halifax, but…”

Steve drew Bucky’s hand closer, enclosing it with both of his “Y’know, if you make keeping the crew safe into your personal mission, then you’d stay safe for me too?”

Steve’s smile was more than enough; that radiant warmth that glowed to his core and sated Bucky’s very soul. There was something so special about this crooked little man with the lilting voice, gentle face and golden hair.

“I just don’t know what you see in me”, Bucky gasped, in sudden awe.

“I could say the self-same thing”, shrugged Steve “I’m not exactly marriage material. I’m useless to you.”

“Don’t…don’t you dare say that!”

“Well, you can’t very well take something like me back to ‘mom and dad’, now can you?”

“What the heck do you mean by “something like me?” You’re not a thing!"

“I know that and you know that, but most people don’t. I have to put on an act every day just to get people to take me seriously.”

Bucky nodded. “That explains your sunshine song at least; it fits.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, the bit about playing through a part, with an ache in your heart all day.”

Steve snorted. “Putting on the show I can do. I’ve been doing it all my life, but what we’re doing right now is very different. It feels so good, but it could end up hurting so badly and I…I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to…well, to any this. I’m so scared.” he glanced down to their clasped hands.

And Bucky had thought that he was the only one lost in that minefield.

“Please, I beg of you…please don’t be scared, Stevie. We’ll work something out, I swear.”

The pet name struck Steve hard in the chest. His face burned.

“You okay?”

“I…”

“You said you thought names ending in ‘y’ were sweet didn’t ya?”

“Do this mean I can call you honey?”

“Isn’t Bucky enough for you?”

“Nope, that’s your nickname. I need a pet name for you too.”

“Together with a collar and leash with my name on it no doubt.”

Steve’s further blushes were spared by the large calico cat that leapt onto their table. Bucky instinctively freed his hands from Steve’s to shield the glasses from stray paws.

“What are you doing up here, puss?” Steve scolded gently. “You know very well you’re not allowed up on the tables!”

Bucky laughed. “I take it you know this feline, then?”

“Oh yes, this is Spitfire.” Steve gingerly picked up the cat. “He’s the official pub cat, and an excellent mouser. He earned his name because he’s as fast and deadly as any fighter ‘plane, but it goes without saying that he’s spoiled rotten by the regulars, aren’t you kitty?”

Spitfire flashed a supercilious stare at Bucky with his luminous green eyes, before wriggling furiously around in Steve’s arms, demanding release. Upon winning his freedom, he instantly bounded off in the direction of the fireplace.

“Not exactly what you’d call a cuddle-cat”, Steve sighed. “But he certainly earns his keep around here.”

Bucky’s face fell into a lopsided grin, “There’s someone in this snug I’d prefer to cuddle with.”

“I don’t know where you learned your lines from mister, but they won’t work on me.”

It was all bluster of course. Bucky could see how adorably shy Steve was, how completely unused to any kind of romantic attention. Bucky’s heart ached with longing, and though he didn’t know how to prove it to him, a cuddle would be a very good start.

The teasing scent of flirtatious Alpha buzzed round the room, sending Steve punch-drunk.  Bucky scooted out from behind the table, giving Steve room to snuggle against him. His weight, even with the massy leg-braces was feather-light against his lap. Bucky considered how frail and precious this exquisite little man was in his arms, and resolved right there and then to make it his mission to come back safe, not for himself, or even for his crew, but for his Stevie.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

Unshed tears swelled in Steve’s baby blues, threatening to burst their banks. “You with your glowing cheeks and your golden hair. You paint my clouds with your sunshine, you know that? You’re my sunshine boy.”

Steve tucked himself closer into Bucky’s body heat. The unguarded intimacy struck him like a lightning bolt. Bucky’s hindbrain screamed at him to defend and protect; and never, ever to let go.

“I’m with you till the end of the line”, sighed Bucky

“hmmm?”

“Sorry, that’s a subway expression. I guess you have to live in New York to get that reference.”

“You seem to forget…” Steve murmured into Bucky’s cheek “…I work on the railways, honey. We’ve got lines too, but York isn’t at the end of any of them.”

“And my line will never end for you either, I promise you Stevie.”

 

-*-

 

“You wanted to see me, Squadron Leader?”

“Ah yes, Barnes. Walk with me.”

Bucky was crossing the airfield having just returned from an instrument check on one of the Halifaxes. The reported engine pinking wasn’t a blocked fuel line; that would have been too simple, so he’d put her through her paces with one of the mechanics aboard. Between the two of them, they’d detected the misfiring spark plug quite easily.

Up until then, mechanics had rarely been invited into a cockpit, and Bucky’s shamelessly American dispensation with traditional Royal Canadian Air Force hierarchies had saved hours of fruitless searching for mechanical faults and garnered him a lot of respect from pilots and ground crews alike.

“So, thirty successful missions. That’s quite a feat. Well done, Barnes.”

“They weren’t successful for everyone sir.”

“No. Five crews lost. Enemy flak is getting more accurate these days.”

“That’s over a quarter of our ‘planes, sir.”

Stark nodded “On paper, it’s still lower than the average for night bombers, if you concur with War Office statistics, that is.”

Bucky snorted at that. He knew Stark well enough now for him to feel comfortable airing his opinions, especially those his superior secretly harboured alongside him.

“Still, it’s a great enough loss for our top brass to request a reorganisation. The squadron’s been ordered to relocate its base of operations to nearby Topcliffe airfield, while we wait for replacement aircraft and train fresh crews. A new RAF squadron will be moving in here at the end of the month.”

“I see, sir”

“The question I have for you Barnes is this. Do you want to stay here at Pocklington or follow us to Topcliffe?”

“I have a choice?”

“I wouldn’t have asked you if you didn’t. Naturally I contacted your US superiors at Thurleigh for their opinion but it’s all a bit messy for them at the moment. Your colleague’s court-martial back in Washington is taking longer than expected, mostly because he’s started fighting it tooth and nail, so - for diplomatic reasons - they’d much rather you stayed up here for the time being.”

Bucky’s stomach lurched. He hadn’t even considered this, but of course he was merely on secondment to the Canadian forces. The Vale of York was dotted with airfields, but the US Air Force didn’t officially operate out of any of them. He’d been given an unexpected reprieve because of Brock’s sheer stubbornness, but it was only a matter of time before he’d have to leave; before he’d have to leave his Stevie.

 

Shit.

 

Stark was no fool. He saw the colour instantly drain from his pilot trainer.

“Barnes, would I be correct in assuming you’ve found yourself a sweetheart?”

Bucky nodded, still in a daze.

“Well…”, Stark shrugged “You can worry about all that when the time comes. There’s no point in wringing your hands over something you’ve no control over. But if you want my advice, I’d suggest you came with us to the new airfield. I could do with you to train the new pilots, and maybe being useful will help me convince the Americans to let you stay up here with us a little while longer?”

“You’d do that for me sir?” asked Bucky.

“I can’t offer any guarantees; I’ve no actual authority with Thurleigh. But I may be able to influence US Air Force decisions if they’re undecided about you, and they’re minded to listen. You’re a good man, Barnes. I’d hate to lose you.”

 

 

-*-

 

“I hear you’re leaving us for Topcliffe then, Bucky?”

“Peggy?”

The WAAF officer flashed him a tight, brave smile over dinner that evening as she passed him his plate. “Well, obviously if they’re posting actual British pilots to this airfield, I’ll have stay with my countrymen.”

“Really? I hardly 'pegged' you as the flag-waving kind.”

“Oh, how terribly droll. Your puns are as bad as your dress sense, Barnes”

“Hey, I’ve got a lot to thank that boiler suit for, Peg. It played a pivotal part in finding me my lovely sunshine boy.”

“Well, neither your puns nor your dress sense can save me from this, Bucky. To be honest with you, I’d rather be with you and Stark, but once I’ve settled you in at Topcliffe for a couple of weeks, I’ve been ordered to return here to prepare this place for the new arrivals.”

Bucky’s face fell. Not only was he losing a friend, but it reminded him - as if he needed any further reminders - that his life wasn’t his own either; that he could be ordered to go anywhere by his superiors, even back to Brooklyn if they so wished it, and although he’d be overjoyed to see his folks again…

“Speaking of your sweetheart”, Peggy continued, breaking into Bucky’s gloomy thoughts. “I pulled a few strings in our bureaucracy and something unexpectedly helpful dropped out. When you move airfield, it’s customary for everyone to receive a full medical to check they’re still fit for duty. And on that day, it might well be in your best interests to arrange for that young man of yours to join you.”

 

 

 


	7. Vyner Street

 

Bucky planned to use his week’s leave during the airfield relocation as wisely as possible. His first visit on Monday was only a short stroll from York District Hospital, and caused him as much trepidation as any medical appointment. Vyner Street was a long row of identical Victorian terrace houses, their dull grim facades staring from left and right at him as he sought out the door on which to knock. The face that greeted him behind the jet black door of No 50 was barely less stony. He forced a weak apologetic smile.

“Mr. Barnes, I presume? Well, I’ll say this for you, you’re prompt. You’d better come in, I suppose.”

“Thank you, Mrs Rogers.”

Sarah Rogers was probably somewhere in her mid-40s, but he knew it wasn’t polite to guess, and even less polite to enquire as to a lady’s age. Her face looked crumpled and careworn, appropriate for a nurse, but the little crinkles around her eyes hinted at a past full of laughter and that gave Bucky a ray of much-needed hope.

“We’ll take tea in the parlour,” she said. That was an indisputable statement of intent; not the occasion for Bucky to disclose a preference for coffee, even as a joke, although a cup might possibly have steadied his nerves.

Sarah Roger’s parlour was still rigged up in the old Edwardian style: all frills, flock wallpaper and porcelain knick-knacks overcrowding every available surface. This was the front room; the ‘best’ room as it were, designed to impress relatives and intimidate guests. Bucky’s rapidly numbing backside could confirm its effectiveness, as he shifted his buttocks uncomfortably on the black horsehair couch.

He was handed a cup and saucer filled with a tea blend so astringent, the scent made his eyes water.

“You look like you could do with a good stiff drink. But this is the best I can manage before lunchtime.”

That almost sounded like sympathy, or at the very least, pity. Bucky would take that.

“My sister has kept me well informed. She let me know you wished to speak to me in private and it’s the least I can do to oblige you, given your respectful treatment of my son and the kindness you have extended to him.”

“Kindness?”

Sarah sighed. “It’s been so good of you to redress the abuse my son suffered through your colleague, but I do understand that there are limits. Honour has been amply satisfied, and if you wish to be released from any lingering obligations you may feel towards him, then…”

“Obligations? Ma’am, I feel no ‘obligations’ towards your son. I love him.”

Sarah gaped like a landed fish. “But…but I thought…”

“I came here to beg your permission to court your son on an exclusive basis.”

Sarah’s lip trembled. “But no-one’s ever thought of my Steve like that. Not…not ever.”

“Then it’s their loss. Because he’s very special to me.”

“And you don’t mind the…” her hand slid down to her leg, evidently miming the bulky mass of Steve’s leg braces.

“That’s a part of him, yes, but it doesn’t define him. If anything, it just adds to him. He’s such a fighter. The first time I dated him, he gave me a piece of his mind about Alphas that I won’t forget any time soon.”

That revelation elicited a proud smile from Sarah. “Well, he can punch above his weight that’s for certain. But then he had to start fighting early.  My Joe died in the Great War less than a month after Steve was born. He was the man of the house before he could even speak. And the Polio made him fight even harder. I swear, if he didn’t need those sticks to walk with, he’d use them to thrash bullies on the street!”

“He’s got a rage in him”, agreed Bucky. “I love that no-one ever tells him what to do. So, I just knew that when he climbed into my arms…” Bucky blushed himself into silence.

“He climbed into your arms?” queried Sarah with tangible excitement.

“Er..yeah… he did that. We did that”, stuttered Bucky, shame-faced.

“Then I don’t think you need ask me if you can go out with Steve. He’s made his mind up to go out with you, and what’s good enough for my son is good enough for me, Mr. Barnes”

“Please call me Bucky.” He relaxed a little and tried to put the teacup to his lips, but the stench of overstewed tannin was much too powerful.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Rogers…”

“Sarah, please”, she corrected.

“I’m sorry, Sarah, but I don’t think I can manage…”

She smiled. “Joe once wrote to me that he’d met some yanks in the trenches that couldn’t take to tea either. I’m not sure what they drank instead though.”

“Coffee, most likely.”

Sarah furrowed her brow. “I might just have something in the pantry. Come and take a look.”

Bucky was just relieved to be off the horsehair couch. He followed Sarah through a homely and much more comfortable living room with a lumpy old chintz couch and a dining table, to the sparse kitchen and beyond to a little door. The cacophony of stale aromas that assaulted his nostrils when she opened it nearly overwhelmed him.

“Most English homes have a pantry like this. It’s cooler for the fruit and vegetables. We’ve got a meat safe in here too, but what with the rationing, there’s little or no meat to be had. We’re lucky to get a couple of sausages and a lamb chop between us all week.”

Bucky was glad that particular cupboard was bare. His reaction to meat on the turn wouldn’t have given a very favourable impression. But it begged an interesting question.

“So, how does rationing affect Steve’s health?”

“Well, it doesn’t exactly help”, Sarah replied, her voice muffled as she rifled through the pantry shelves. “I try and give him the lion’s share of the fresh food but we’ve been living on powdered eggs for years now and the sweet rations are pathetic. We live less than five hundred yards from Rowntree’s chocolate factory but they’ve not churned out anything edible since war broke out.”

“Nothing sadder than an empty chocolate factory”, mused Bucky.

“Oh, it’s not empty. They make other things there now.”

“Anything tasty?”

“Nothing we’re told about, so I can only assume it’s the kind of product that explodes, but not on the tongue, if you see what I mean?  I can’t even say I miss the chocolate all that much. Without sugar, you can’t make sweets anyway.”

“How do people bake cookies and cakes then?”

“We don’t”, said Sarah. “Well, not as a rule; only at Christmas and special birthdays. And even then, we have to use substitutes like dried fruit, though they’re not easy to get hold of either these days…

…Ah! The very thing!”

 

(A 1950's advertisement for "Camp" the 19th Century British coffee 'substitute'. This product is still sold today, but readers will be pleased to know that the Indian and British characters sit and sip their coffee together on modern labels.

 

Sarah emerged from the pantry triumphant, handing over a tall bottle of dark brown liquid.

“Camp coffee”, Bucky read aloud, looking at a label depicting an old timey British army officer sitting by a tent being served by a figure that looked like an Indian waiter.

“You think you could make use of that? When you mentioned cakes, I remembered we used to use this potion to flavour coffee cakes. I’m not sure what it’d taste like without the sugar though.”

Bucky flipped the lid and took an experimental sniff; then started to chuckle.

“This is the stuff they served me at Betty’s!”

“A high-class café like that? Well I never…although now you come to think of it, I suppose they’d need a way to flavour their coffee cakes too.”

“Well thanks for the offer, Sarah, but I think I’ll pass.”

She looked at the back of the label “It says here it tastes good with cold milk. I think we’ve got a bit to spare. You sure you don’t want to try? Milk’s got its own sweetness, of a kind.”

Bucky didn’t want to appear ungrateful, but he wasn’t sure his freshly laundered uniform could cope with another anointing. Still, he probably didn’t need to gulp as much at once.

“Well, okay”, he ventured.

Sarah half-filled a small glass tumbler with milk, added a healthy dash of the tarry liquid and then whisked it for several seconds with a teaspoon.

“Looks a bit like milkshake now”, said Bucky

“I’ll have to take your word for that”, shrugged Sarah.

Bucky wasn’t surprised. He was learning that a lot of the things he took for granted in Brooklyn just didn’t exist there. Gum, Hershey bars, the 4th of July (although that one he at least could understand) and of course no-one had even heard of baseball, let alone the Dodgers; now milkshakes? He wondered how he could treat his Stevie to a milkshake. Was that even possible?

Just the thought of Steve gave Bucky the courage he needed to be standing in this strange kitchen tentatively eyeing a glass of something so noxious, he’d violently spat it out the last time he’d gone anywhere near it.

“Well, here goes.” He screwed his eyes shut and took a tentative sip. The drink was…surprisingly pleasant. It wasn’t coffee, not even a pale imitation of it; no doubt his folks would be in hysterics if they could see the depths he’d plumbed to get his fix of caffeine, but at that moment, all he could think was how a lady who’d treated him with cold civility less than twenty minutes ago was now treating him to cold coffee. He could see the unmistakable glimmer of his sunshine boy in the smile of his mother.

Sarah placed the bottle back in the pantry. “I’m keeping this right here” she joked “That way I know you’ll keep coming back.”

“Assuming your son will have me.”

Sarah snorted “If he’s chosen you, then you’re not just a guest, you’re a family member.” In a stage whisper she continued “He’s got a three-quarter bed. Plenty of room for two if you’re in the mood for a cuddle.”

Bucky blushed furiously.

“Oh please”, she shrugged “I didn’t fall out of the sky yesterday. As long as I know what’s going on under my roof, then I’m happy. And I’m presuming the barracks or whatever you’re sleeping in now isn’t very comfortable.”

“That’s true enough.”

“Then welcome to our family, Bucky. If I understand the Alpha Code correctly, we’re you’re second ‘pack’ now, aren’t we?”

Bucky nodded proudly, but much as his Alpha instinct encouraged him to bask in the warm glow of that, he knew there was still part of his mission, that personal mission for his Stevie, that was still unfulfilled.

“As…part of the family, Sarah, I was wondering if I could ask you something about Steve?”

“Anything you want. I even have baby pictures”, she giggled.

“Oh, I’ll have to take a look at those very soon”, grinned Bucky. “But in your professional capacity I was wondering if you could tell me when Steve had last been assessed?”

Sarah’s smile faded a little. “Assessed for what? The disability or the asexuality?”

“Well, either really.”

She sighed. “Before the war I suppose. He’s been in for treatment since then of course, most recently when that beast of a man used the Voice on him.” Bucky winced. “But really, there’s nothing anyone can do for him now.”

“I don’t want to be the cause any offence or upset”, Bucky hesitated. “But we’re having medicals in a week’s time, and one of my colleagues told me that the Canadian doctor carrying them out just so happens to be a specialist in both areas. He’s quite renowned apparently, though I don’t know anything about medics myself.”

“What’s his name?”

“Abraham Erskine.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell with me, but then I’m not a doctor. I’ll speak to my clinician colleagues and find out.”

“One of our officers has spoken with his secretary and he’s offered to give Steve a free consultation if that’s something you think might be worthwhile.”

“If this doctor’s got a good reputation, then I’m all in favour”, said Sarah. “The problem will be persuading Steve to go. He hates being poked and prodded and, difficult though disability and asexuality may be, he’s not in market for a miracle ‘cure’. He’s happy the way he is, and I wouldn’t want him any other way but happy.”

“I very doubt there’s going to be a miracle, Sarah, but it’s possible something good might come of it, so I didn’t want to pass up the chance. You’re absolutely right though”, Bucky concluded. “This has to be Steve’s choice.”

 

-*-

 

Didn’t expect to see you here today, Bill. Don’t you ever sleep?”

The middle-aged Alpha levelled an amused smirk at Steve. “You’re a one to talk. I spotted you fire watching last night”

“Only because you were there too”, said Steve. “Besides, I’ve got a couple of day’s leave coming up after this shift, which is more than I can say for you.”

“Been snooping at other people’s leave timetables again?”

“Hey, I’m a reporter. I’ve got to hone my finely tuned investigative skills somehow.”

“Ah yes, what was it the last time? Stray cows on the Leeman Road? You’re going to get poached by The Times of London with your purple prose.”

“Saracasm doesn’t suit you dear”, Steve quipped back. “Anyway, I’m happy to report on mundane things. It that means the war is staying far away from us.”

“You’re forgetting that bomb in January.”

“It was messy, that’s true, but we’re always going to catch the occasional stray from a bomber on their way to a more strategic target. If they ever send a real raid on the city, then we’ll be the first to know about it.”

“True enough. We may as well paint a target on the station roof,” agreed Bill sullenly. 

Bill Milner, the dedicated station foreman, was an older family man with kindly eyes and a benign protective Alpha streak that encompassed passengers and his fellow railway staff alike.  It was Bill who’d discovered Steve in a quivering heap on the bridge and carried him into the station offices to administer first aid. It was Bill who he’d wept into the shoulder of, when he’d explained what had happened to him. It was Bill who’d persuaded him to report the assault to the police and to write his piece for the editorial.

And it was Bill who now said “Uh oh. You expecting a visitor?”

Steve looked up from the typewriter to see a handsome Alpha in a US Air Force uniform, leaning against the door and grinning at him like the proverbial Cheshire cat.

“Knock next time”, Steve said as officiously as he could muster with a belly full of butterflies. “You almost made me mistype this letter.”

“I don’t buy your tone for a moment, Stevie.”

“Which is just as well, because my tone’s not for sale, smart arse.”

“It’s smartass.”

“I’m glad you know your own name”, said Steve, brushing aside Bucky’s correction. “What are you doing here anyway? The airfields’ over there somewhere, isn’t it?” He wafted his hand in a random direction that just so happened to encompass the stationery cupboard.

“In the closet?” asked Bucky. “You think I live in Narnia?”

“Well you have your head in the clouds most of the time; literally I’d imagine.”

“I got you to paint ‘em for me though, sunshine boy.”

Steve rolled his eyes dramatically, glanced at his watch, and then turned back to Bill.

“Is that Edinburgh train late again?”

“Twenty minutes this time. Can’t get the staff these days,” he grumbled.

Steve grabbed his sticks and shuffled the few clumsy steps to the microphone, his legs still stiff from the overnight fire watching.  

“We regret to announce the 11:45 service to Edinburgh Waverley Street departing from Platform nine will be delayed by approximately twenty minutes. Please accept our apologies for this inconvenience.”

Bucky couldn’t help but stare. He wasn’t sure how that sounded over the tannoy, but from the office, the musical lilt in Steve’s voice made his heart skip a beat.

“Why don’t you take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Sorry, Stevie. It’s just…seeing you with a microphone.”

“What?”

“I have visions of you at the front of a band singing your sunshine song.”

“Oh please,” Steve blushed, echoing his mother’s expression. “I just bash out a few tunes on the pub piano.”

“You got the voice of an angel, sunshine boy.”

“Would you listen to this sappy Alpha, Bill? What am I going to do with him?”

“I shudder to think”, came the reply. “You eat Alphas for breakfast.”

Bucky flashed a lopsided grin “Speaking of which, can I buy you lunch?”

“Can’t you see I’m on duty?”

“Your shift ends at midday”, said Bill. “I think I’ll manage for ten minutes on my own, Steve. Besides, if I have to watch you two making eyes at each other for much longer, it’ll put me off MY lunch!”

 

-*-

 

“Well, you certainly know how to show a fellah a good time, don’t you?”

Bucky laughed. On his recon mission that day, had hadn’t found a single decent place to eat in the whole city, which wasn’t surprising given rationing. Then he remembered Sarah mentioning that Steve he was partial to cod and chips, so the chip-shop on Micklegate it had to be. At least there was a bench nearby with a pleasant view of the River Ouse.

“Ah, the unmistakable perfume of greasy batter and stagnant water. Powerfully romantic scent for your hindbrain I have no doubt”, said Steve.

“I think I’m getting used to unusual sensations. I drank half a glass of camp coffee and milk this morning.”

“Your hopeless desperation for coffee knows no bounds. Who treated you to that little pick-me-up?”

“Your mum.”

He’d seen the same 'landed fish' gape once that morning already.

“Yeah, well…I wanted her blessing,” Bucky continued. “My craving for you is a lot more desperate than my craving for coffee. I just dream that my desperation isn’t hopeless. I’d do anything to be your boyfriend.”

Steve gulped, for once completely lost for words.

“I love you, Steve Rogers. I love you so much it hurts. I wanna be with you so damn much.”

A single tear inched down Steve’s cheek.

“I’m not good at romantic speeches. I…I hope I said that right”, he hesitated.

Steve dug a handkerchief out of his pocket to dab his eyes, and then proceeded to wipe around Bucky’s mouth.

“Whoa, what’re you doin’ Stevie?”

“Well, I’m not letting you kiss me with greasy lips, honey.”

“As if that matters.”

Bucky locked lips with Steve, tentatively sliding just a hint of tongue into his boyfriend’s mouth. Aside from a faint hint of salt and vinegar, the only thing Bucky could taste was pure joy. Even without scent, Bucky’s hindbrain throbbed its insistence, to love and protect this boy to his last breath.

As their lips parted, Steve actually whimpered. Bucky didn’t think he’d heard such a beautiful sound in his whole life. He loved his singing voice, but Steve’s mewling was something personal; something just for him. Alpha arousal pulsed through his veins.

“Steady there. We’re in public, Barnes”, warned Steve.

“Sorry. I…just find it difficult to control my feelings. It’s not like I do this very often…or ever, if I’m honest.”

“There’s no-one you’ve left behind in Brooklyn?”

“No-one as special as you, Stevie. There’s my family of course. I miss them like crazy, especially my twin sister, but no-one like you.”

Steve cocked his head. “Could you tell me about her?”

“Becca? Well, she’s like my shadow. We were inseparable growing up. She helped me through so many tests at school, and she’s a lot more sensible and level-headed than I am. She’s finished her doctorate in physical therapy and she’s doing her final placement in an orthopaedic ward right now.”

“You sound very proud of her.”

Bucky smiled wistfully. “Yeah well, we were part of a big family, so we had lots and lots of love, but pretty much nothing else. Everything was hand-me-downs. Becca just wouldn’t quit; she pulled herself up by her bootstraps, studied hard and did a ton of part-time jobs to pay for medical school. So, sure I’m real proud of her.”

“Well, you’re hardly a quitter either.”

“I’m not in the same league, sweetheart.”

“You let me be the judge of that, honey”, said Steve

“Funnily enough, that’s what Becca used to say. Only she calls me ‘Buckaroo’. No, don’t ask”, Bucky added, as Steve gave him an amused look. “But anyways, Becca generally got the lion’s share of the praise from our folks every day, but at night she’d whisper to me that I’d make it big one day if I just believed in myself.”

Steve nodded. “You two shared a bed, then?”

Bucky shrugged. “Well, yeah…we’re a big family.”

“So”, Steve smiled slyly. “Do you tend to run hot or cold?”

“Huh?”

“In bed, I mean”, Steve whispered into his ear.

Bucky blushed bright as a firebrand. “Er…hot, very hot.”

“That’s good. I won’t have to wear those ridiculous flannel pyjamas anymore.”

“Now wait just a minute. Are you proposing what I think…”

“Or there’s always the chintz couch in the living room", Steve cut in with a smirk. "I’m sure you’ll have seen it on your visit. It’s a bit worn but I hear it’s jolly comfortable.”

“No, no”, protested Bucky. “Your bed’s bound to be comfier.”

“Good. And you’ll be pleased to know I take the leg braces off before I get in, so you won’t be grinding up against metal.”

Bucky spluttered shamefacedly.

“Now eat your fish before it gets cold”, he pointed at the cod in the newspaper on Bucky’s lap. “You spent good money on that!”

Bucky chomped down on the greasy, but surprisingly succulent batter, whilst he collected his thoughts.

“There’s erm…one thing I’ve been meaning to ask you…I’m afraid to because I’m worried you’ll get mad.”

Steve furrowed his brow “Bucky, honey. I know I’ve got the devil’s temper in me but I’m going to make you a solemn promise right here and now that I’ll always listen to what you have to say, and I’ll never just fly off the handle. I know whatever you have to say has good intentions…even if you’re probably wrong, because I’m always right”, he concluded, with a wink.

Once more, Steve’s words gave Bucky the courage he needed to press on.

“Well, we all have to undergo medical exams next week, but the doctor doing them is also a Polio specialist. Your mum told me you really don’t like going to doctors, but she’s checking out his credentials and, if he turns out to be good, I was hoping you’d come with me to see him?”

Steve stayed silent.

“If it’s about the money, he’s already agreed to give a free consultation. The chances are he’ll have nothing to say that you don’t already know but this kind of opportunity doesn’t come up very often. I…I know I’m asking a lot of you but…”

“I’ll come.”

“You…you will?”

“If mum says he’s good and if she can come along too, then yes.”

Steve’s voice was tight. Bucky guessed he wasn’t exactly happy.

“I know it’s wrong of me to get involved like this.”

Steve sighed. “No honey. It’s not wrong. I just don’t like doctors much, that’s all. They either say there’s nothing they can do, which is heart breaking or they promise things they can’t deliver, which is even worse. Plus, you know, I get by just fine. I’m happy being me.”

“And I’m happy with you being you too, Stevie. I don’t want to change you. You’re the sunshine boy I fell in love with. But if there’s anything that might make your life easier and happier - anything at all - then I want it for you. I’m with you ‘till the end of the line, remember? If you don’t like this doctor, then just tell me and I’ll make sure he never lays a finger on you.”

Steve snorted. “You and your macho Alpha sentiments. Surely you know by now that if I don’t like what someone has to say to me, I can bawl them out even better than you can, honey!”

 


	8. Little English God

 

Bucky would never be more grateful for a chip-shop in his life. Dinner with the Rogers was a meagre affair, given the restrictions of rationing. He had no idea how Steve and his mother survived day to day on what was effectively bread and water pretending to be vegetable soup. Sarah had managed to supplement Bucky’s bowl with a couple of dumplings, which at least helped fill his stomach, but - to his dismay - he noted they weren’t joining him.

“I had something at the hospital”, said Sarah, none-too-convincingly, when Bucky questioned her.

“And Bucky treated me to fish and chips this lunchtime”, gushed Steve.

“That’s wonderful”, Sarah exclaimed. “You’ve not had a fish in years.”

“Two years to be exact. Do you remember? Uncle Dmitri brought some back from his seaside trip to Scarborough, but of course by the time he got back home, they stank to high heaven. You and Auntie Nat hadn’t the heart to tell him.”

Sarah laughed and spooned a little more of the watery soup into her mouth. “He could get seasick on a duck pond, that silly man, but he made Nat laugh so much. It’s a tragedy for her that he’s gone”, she sighed. “All the Alphas in our family seem to…” her face blanched in horror when she realised what she was inferring. “I…I didn’t mean anything by that, I’m sorry, Bucky.”

“Don’t be. It must have been hard to have lost both Joe and Dmitri.”

“They never did find Dmitri’s body. Joe at least has a grave, though it’s in Belgium so I’ve never actually visited it. The only plot we can visit with our Christmas wreath is my own parents, and Steve’s granddad died before he was born.”

“Grandma Rose was wonderful though”, added Steve fondly. “I have lots and lots of happy memories of her. Even after the Polio, she swore to me that one day I’d have children of my own. I know that sounds silly, but deep down I still half believe her, even though I know that it’s impossible.”

 

-*-

 

When it was time for bed, Bucky insisted in carrying his boyfriend, bridal style, up the narrow staircase.

“I can take care of myself, you know”, Steve protested sharply. “There’s a perfectly good handrail.”

“I know you can” said Bucky softly, placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder “But the truth is, you don’t have to.”

As he ascended, he was reminded of how light and insubstantial his Stevie was. His spirit may have been unbreakable, but his body was anything but. Bucky’s Alpha instinct keened with fear and anxiety, but those clouds were quickly painted over by his sunshine boy breathing a shy “thank you” into his ear when they reached the bathroom door.

“I just need to give myself a quick once over. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“Can I…”

“No, you can’t.”  Steve firmly closed the bathroom door.

Steve’s bedroom was the smaller of the two; the ‘back bedroom’ as it was known in such households. It had the advantage of being closer to the bathroom, and boasted a handsome view of the postage-stamp sized back garden. Most of their neighbour’s lawns had been dug up to grow vegetables except for sweet little Mrs. Potts, the widow next door, who was too old to manage a shovel, and of course their own, since Sarah was too busy at the hospital and Steve hadn’t the strength.

In the twilight, sparrows and thrushes whistled and tootled tunefully to one another; as they settled into their roosting spots within the shrubbery, whilst blackbirds hopped fitfully about the lawn in search of a final juicy worm before it grew too dark. Everything looked so calm and comfortable and so utterly unchanging. Like the view from the train window, the greenery of the English countryside soothed Bucky’s jangling nerves almost as much as the love he carried in his heart, and tonight, for the very first time, in his arms.

He didn’t notice how long he’d been staring out of the window until a shy voice interrupted his thoughts. “I just need to be where you are, Bucky honey, so I can take these braces off.”

Steve took a seat at the miniature dressing table by the window. Bare chested, his little arm muscles flexed as, with practiced deftness, he unclipped the callipers and slid the lumpen mechanism to the floor with a satisfying thud, He looked up into the mirror to see his boyfriend’s doe-eyed reflection grinning hopelessly back at him.

“You’re as daft as a brush, Buck. I hope you know that?”

Bucky blushed. He’d heard the quirky little northern English expression before. He’d asked what it meant the first time, and wasn’t surprised to discover that no-one really knew any more. It meant anything and nothing, but on Steve’s lips it meant everything.

Bucky’s smile faded. Not for the first time, he wondered how Steve got about at night without the clamps. His instinct was to help, but Steve must have found a way to cope every night of his life before Bucky, so he sat on the bed, tucked his hands under his thighs and waited.

Very carefully, Steve lowered himself from the chair onto the carpet and shuffled the few yards to the bed on his knees. Then, when he reached the side of the bed, he asked. “Do you want to join me?”

Curious, Bucky knelt beside him as Steve closed his eyes bowed his head.

“Heavenly Father, we ask you to bless King George, and the Royal Family, and the work of our government, and governments around the world who are striving to bring about peace and end this war. We ask for blessings on our friends and families both at home…and abroad, and most of all I ask a blessing for my wonderful boyfriend, to keep him safe amongst the clouds, and always bring him home to me. Amen”

It wasn’t as if Bucky had never prayed. His folks took him to mass at least a couple of dozen Sundays a year, but daily prayers weren’t something he’d grown accustomed to when growing up. Steve’s faith seemed…well, very much like Steve: small and modest and perhaps just a little childlike, but none the worse for that. Perhaps Steve’s little English God fast-tracked such innocent prayers, he thought to himself.

Steve hauled himself onto the bed before Bucky had the chance to even offer. “You in the mood for a cuddle, honey?”

“Hold that thought.”

Bucky bolted to the bathroom and rinsed himself over in soap and cold water so fast; he barely had time to get goose pimples. By the time he returned, Steve was already in bed, staring up at him invitingly.

Intense Alpha arousal bloomed within him. He didn’t even try to disguise the scent. There was no point; surely Steve must have known the effect he had on him.

“Now, this isn’t to go outside the bedroom because I’ll strenuously deny it in public”, Steve warned. “But the truth is I’m VERY impressed.” His eyes glinted as they drank in Bucky’s muscular frame.

“Impressed enough to surrender to an American invasion?” teased Bucky.

Steve made a face. “Oh, I don’t think the military analogies are appropriate. Diplomacy is so much more civilised, don’t you think? Let’s just call it détente.”

“You and your big words, Mister Reporter.”

“I need big words to compensate for those big muscles, Mister Alpha.”

Bucky clambered into the soft feather bed beside him, and instantly his weight sank such a steep indentation into the flabby mattress that Steve rolled into Bucky’s chest. Placing both arms around Bucky in a tight embrace, Steve snuggled against him, his pale smooth alabaster skin initially cool to the touch but quickly heating and pinking through Bucky’s radiant body heat.

Bashfully, Steve teased his nose against Bucky’s scent gland at the sweet spot where the shoulder met the neck.

“You like that, baby?”

A little puff of air expelled against his skin assured him of that.

“Bucky, honey? What’s it like?”

“Hmmm?”

“To have a gender? What’s it like?”

It hurt to hear the desperate longing in Steve’s voice. This was a gift beyond his capacity to give. He turned his head to look his boyfriend directly in the eye.

“I dunno…I guess, you never really think about it when you have it. I can’t smell anything on you, but I know you can smell me…” he coloured a touch “And I know…I know that you like it.”

“But I can’t make you happy the same way. I…I don’t want to change myself, but…sometimes I wish I could have a scent just for you.”

He brushed his thumb against Steve’s cheek.

“Baby, I don’t need a scent to know you’re mine. I got all my other senses. The way you speak to me, the way you look at me, the way you…feel to me now.”

“But I….”

“Shhhh, Stevie. We have what we have together. I don’t need more and if this doctor offers anything else, you don’t have to take it. You don’t have to do anything to make me happy. God knows, you make me happy just being here in my arms, my sweet sunshine boy.”

Bucky could feel the spasm wrack his boyfriend’s body, even before he heard him sob. He thought his heart would break.

“What is it, sweetheart?” his breath sharp with panic.

“I…I’ve never been so happy”, bawled Steve.

“You English and your damned pent-up emotions”, he huffed teasingly, drawing Steve even closer.

 

-*-

 

The next morning, he woke to the sound of a polite tap on the door.

“You two decent?”

Bucky blinked opened one eye. Steve was still sound asleep, tucked into him in the ‘little spoon’ position as if he’d spent a lifetime making himself at home there. Thankfully, they were both under the covers.

Before he had the chance to say as much, Sarah poked her head around the door.

“I left it as long as I dared but we’ve got that appointment with Dr. Erskine in a couple of hours. I’ve boiled a kettle for your shave and left it by the sink.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh” she ducked her head back around the door. “And you two look so sweet like that I could cry”

Please, no more tears, Bucky thought, as he felt Steve stretch awake like a languid cat in his arms.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

 

-*-

 

“You mind explaining to me what it is you think you’re doing?”

“Watching you shave.”

“Am I doing it that badly?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t have to shave, and I’ve never really had any Alphas in my life, so I’ve not seen anyone shave before.”

“Ah…well, if only you’d let me know in advance, I’d have put my put on my white tie and tails for you.”

“You don’t strike me as a tap dancer.”

“Then you’re a smart boyfriend, because I’ve got two left feet.”

“Not even something simple like a waltz or a foxtrot?”

“Not even so much as a barn dance.”

“You dance with barns in America?”

“No, that’s a…” Bucky noticed the amused expression playing across his boyfriend’s face. “Ha, ha, very funny, Rogers.”

“A shame though”, Steve sighed “I’d have loved to dance with you. I can dance a slow waltz or a foxtrot with my braces on if my legs are limbered up.”

“I’m sorry, Stevie. I wish I could.”

Bucky pulled the sink plug.

“I don’t suppose you have any…”

Anticipating his question, Steve handed over a little blue glass bottle

“I’m not so sure what this aftershave smells like. It hasn’t been uncapped since 1917.”

“Your dad’s?”

Steve nodded as Bucky breathed in a delicate spiced aroma, unlike anything he’d scented before.

“I don’t suppose the company that made it even exists anymore”, shrugged Steve.

“It’s lovely”, said Bucky, dabbing the cologne to his neck to mingle with his Alpha scent.

“Oh wow…that’s really…mmm…effective on you, honey. It’s so powerful but understated, a bit like the wearer.”

Bucky flushed bright red at the compliment. “If you like it that much, then I’ll have to build a cologne factory just to make it for you.”

Steve snorted. “I suppose I’d better have a quick strip-wash myself. Can’t stink for the good doctor, now can I?”

“Fine by me.”

Steve turned around and crossed his little arms.

“What?”

“Aren’t you going?”

“Why? You watched me shave. It’s a fair exchange!”

“You didn’t get naked to shave, Buck”

“You didn’t ask me.”

Steve harrumphed for a few moments longer, before stepping out of the dressing gown he’d been wearing for decency’s sake

“That’s better” Bucky growled. “You want me to wash you, baby?”

“Tempting…but given the temperature of this water, I think it’d be a good deal less sadistic if I just washed myself.”

“I don’t understand. This bathroom has a bath.”

“Yes?”

“So, how do you take one with no hot water?”

“Oh, that’s simple”, said Steve, scrubbing the chilly flannel over his skin “You boil the kettle half a dozen times. By the time the bath water’s a few inches deep, the temperature’s just warm enough to climb in and splash about a bit.”

“That sounds like a lot of effort for very little reward.”

“That’s why we only do it once a month, honey. I love the sensation of a bath but it’s just not practical every…”

Without warning, Steve collapsed sideways, his limbs curling up on instinct to protect him from the fall.

“STEVIE!”

Bucky’s reflexes were just fast enough to catch him before he hit the floor.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”, he shouted frantically.

“No…no it’s okay”, came the shaky reply.

“But what’s wrong?”

“I’m so c…cold. Hand me a towel?”

First, Bucky helped Steve prop himself up on the edge of the bath.

“Sometimes my legs go into spasm early in the morning when they haven’t woken up properly, or late in an evening when they’re tired, or if I’m just feeling very cold and they simply give up on me for a spell. The braces normally keep me stable when that happens but I’m not dressed yet so…”

Only then did Steve realise Bucky hadn’t handed the towel over, but was instead patting his body dry with it. His instinct was to crossly insist on him doing it for himself but right now it felt so good to be cared for.

“Will you be okay getting to the bedroom, or do you want me to bring your clothes and leg braces to you here?”

“Could you? Please?”

Bucky beamed. His boyfriend was trusting him; maybe only with the small things right now but Steve’s little English God had clearly heard his prayers. And for Bucky, it was all the encouragement he needed.

 


	9. Consultation

 

“Clint? What are you doing here?”

“Well, you didn’t think I’d have you wasting your money on hailing your own hackey from Vyner Street when I was heading over to Topcliffe anyway?”, he said, cocking his head towards a black cab idling at the side of the road.

Steve squeezed into Bucky’s side at the front door.

“What’s a hackey?”

“It’s an American word for a taxi, Stevie.”

“Oh”, Steve smiled brightly. “Well, if it ends in a “y” then I definitely approve.”

“Hold the front page,” exclaimed Bucky melodramatically.

“My boyfriend has absolutely no manners,” Steve harrumphed to Clint. He glanced over to Bucky. “Won’t you at least be good enough to introduce me?”

“Oh, sorry. Clint Barton, pompous Canadian drunkard, meet Steve Rogers, a kid who plays with trains, writes newspaper stories and sings songs about sunshine.”

Steve arched an eyebrow in Clint’s direction. “Is that rumour about Alphas fighting to the death true?”

“Oh, it’s true all right”, confirmed Clint “But the other Alpha has to be your equal, and this pathetic specimen is so far beneath me, he’s barely worth the effort to insult.”

“Ouch!”

“When you three have quite finished making my neighbour’s net curtains twitch,” said Sarah, as she joined them on the doorstep. “It’s about time we got going. The good doctor isn’t going to wait forever.”

 

-*-

 

As the hackey drew up at the side of the road, Bucky felt an uneasy sense of déjà vu.

“So, this is Topcliffe airfield?”

“Yeah,” confirmed Clint.

Bucky sighed. “And I thought Pocklington was bad. Did they build those huts in the dark or something?”

“Beats me, buddy. What’s wrong with ‘em anyway?”

“Well, for a start, we can’t drive through that muddy field to reach ‘em.”

“That’s what the Good Lord gave us legs…” Clint cut himself off as Steve and Sarah swapped fearful glances with Bucky on the back seat.

“Stevie?”

“I promised you I’d see your doctor, Bucky,” Steve murmured. “This shames me to the core but I promised you, and I don’t go back on my promises.”

 

-*-

 

“You must be Mr. Rogers, it’s a real pleasure to meet you”

Steve immediately felt a little less anxious. Dr. Erskine was an old-school doctor in a three-piece tweed suit; the sort who’d been trained to address patients with respect. He’d lost count of the number of junior doctors who’d spoken to him like he was a baby, or simple, or both.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He shook the doctor’s hand firmly.

“I’m going to begin by giving you a couple of assurances”, Dr. Erskine continued. “First, I won’t be poking or prodding you without your say-so, and second I won’t be asking you any damn-fool questions. I’ve treated enough patients with Polio to know the condition inside-out; I just need to know the extent of some of your symptoms.”

Steve grinned at Sarah. The shame of hitching a piggy-back to the hut with Bucky was rapidly fading.

Bucky noticed that for the greater part of his consultation, Dr. Erskine didn’t ask Steve any questions at all. Instead, he asked him to do things, like walking up and down a set of practice stairs, or around the perimeter of the empty hut, serving as the doctor’s consultation room, until Steve got tired. Bucky wasn’t sure what to make of that, but Steve seemed more than happy with the arrangement. After thirty minutes of pretty vigorous exercise though, Steve’s bright smile was wearing thin. Sarah exchanged a concerned look with Bucky.

“Don’t you think you’ve gone far enough…”

“I can do another turn around the hut, mother,” Steve flashed. Clint exchanged a impressed smile and nod with Bucky at Steve’s confident tone of voice. In turn, Bucky’s anxiety faded and his heart swelled with pride. His sunshine boy never stopped fighting.

“Okay, that’s good”, said Dr. Erskine, signalling Steve to sit down. “Now with your permission, I’m going to take a blood sample for analysis to confirm my observations, and then we’re done.”

Bucky nearly fainted when he saw the size of the hypodermic, but Steve didn’t even flinch when the needle sank in.

“So, let’s see…” The doctor flicked through the charts he’d completed on his clip board, and made a couple of notes with the pencil he retrieved from behind his ear. “Now, I hope I haven’t patronised you during this examination, so I’m not going to start now. It’s my personal view that in the future, a vaccine may be developed against the Poliomyelitis virus, not only because prevention is always better than cure, but because cure remains a practical impossibility.”

Though it broke Bucky to hear it, Steve and Sarah seemed heartened by the doctor’s realism. 

“There’s no effective treatment either. During the time the virus is active in your system, different people react in different ways. Good hygiene and nursing care are very important, but it’s the fighting spirit of the individual that can make the biggest difference. It’s quite clear why you’re one of the fittest patients I’ve had the privilege of examining in several years.”

“So, is there anything additional that can be done at this stage?” asked Sarah.

“There are two things,” Dr. Erskine replied, continuing to address Steve out of respect for his patient. “The first one is being achieved admirably by you already. You keep yourself active in your work, and activity will keep your muscles strong and regenerating. Now, personally I’m of the view that this world would be a lot easier to live in for everyone, not just people with disabilities, if we simply got rid of steep stairs, but as long as we have them, you may as well use them to keep yourself in shape.”

“And the second thing?” asked Steve.

“Well, this one’s going to be difficult for you to achieve, but I’m going to go ahead and tell you anyway. In the last ten years, we’ve been improving our understanding of vitamins, the essential building blocks of nutrition that keep our body healthy. Strong bones and muscles need Vitamin D and Calcium. Though we can’t manufacture vitamins artificially right now, we know they’re present in foods like milk, eggs, oily fish and green vegetables. Now, I can’t wave a magic wand to give you those foods when most of them are rationed in this country, but you’d almost certainly see an increase in your strength and stamina if you could eat more of them.”

The first word of Steve’s follow-up question was interrupted by a polite knock at the door.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt...”, said the WAAF officer, putting on her politest accent in the presence of guests, “...but Squadron Leader Stark would like to speak with you, Flight Lieutenant Barton.”

“Oh, okay”, said Clint, getting up to leave. “Thank you, Officer Carter.”

“Carter…Carter…” mused Steve, peering at the figure over by the door “That you by any chance, Peggy?”, he called out.

“Oh my goodness; Steve?”

Peggy rushed over and gave Steve a tremendous bear-hug, whilst Dr. Erskine rose from his seat to examine Steve’s blood sample using the equipment on his desk.

“You two know each other?” asked Bucky.

“How could I have been so stupid,” Peggy said. “I read your newspaper reports almost every evening, but I didn’t know your surname way back then.”

“Me and Peggy were at nursery school together”, Steve explained to Bucky “Do you still remember the May Day of ’24, Peggy?”

“How could I forget, you heartbreaker”, she swooned melodramatically. “Oh…but that that’s just too funny,” she started to laugh uproariously, her gaze fixed on Bucky.

“I hope you’re gonna share this joke with me?”

Peggy gently settled herself on the arm of the chair Steve was sitting on, so it appeared she was sitting on his lap, and put her arms around his neck. “When this handsome Alpha of yours had been released from the police station, he was desperate to get in touch to thank you. Your name’s in the paper so I knew how he could contact you, but just to give him a shock, I told him I was your wife…

…and by an incredible coincidence you are!” laughed Steve. “You are, you are!”

Bucky jaw fell slack.

“May Day 1924, I asked Peggy to marry me, and she said yes. So, I’m sorry honey, but I’m already taken!”

“And er…how old were you when you proposed?”, asked Bucky.

“Old enough”, said Peggy. “He was very nearly 6.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“So, when did the Polio happen, husband?” she asked, gently

“My first year of primary school; just after my 7th birthday. Your parents had just moved to Heslington so….

Bucky relaxed and tuned out of the conversation. He didn’t really think Peggy was any kind of threat, but the nag of illogical Alpha instinct had started to give him a headache.

He looked over to see Dr. Erskine talking with Sarah. She motioned him over.

“What’s up?” asked Bucky.

“We were just discussing some of the initial blood results”, said Dr. Erskine “I don’t wish to intrude, Airman Barnes, but may I please ask you an intimate question?”

“If it concerns, Steve then, sure, go ahead? Ask anything you want.”

Sarah looked a touch embarrassed but nodded for the doctor to continue.

“Does Steve respond to your Alpha scent?”

“He sniffs around my scent gland”, Bucky shrugged “He tells me it makes him feel good.”

“And, do you respond sexually to him?”

“That’s…a bit personal, Dr. Erskine, I’m not sure…”

“I’m sorry that wasn’t appropriate of me to ask. I’m assuming you don’t have a lot of sexual experience, so perhaps it might be better for me to ask you a direct series of questions.” He picked up his clipboard.

“Does Steve’s pupils dilate when you’re intimate with him?”

“Well…yes.”

“Does Steve actively place his body into the miasma of your scent when you’re together…by being very close like sitting on your lap or snuggling very intimately?”

“Sure, he does”

“Has Steve ever made small noises, like a purr or a mewl when you are intimate?”

Bucky flushed bright red. “Yeah…a…a couple of times, I guess. Why?”

Dr Erskine’s expression suddenly turned very serious.

“Oh God, is there something wrong?”  asked Sarah.

“Not exactly, and I’d need to confirm this back at my permanent laboratory, but from these initial tests, I’d say that Steve isn’t actually asexual.”

“Huh?”

“Well, you see, although we know it’s an entirely normal expression of sexual orientation, few people are aware there are actually two types of asexuality”, Dr. Erskine explained. “Type 1 occurs through genetic variation. That’s also what defines most people as Alphas, Betas and Omegas. The primary scent gland just doesn’t develop in Type 1 asexuals, and they’re what you might call ‘naturally’ genderless. But then, there’s Type 2 asexuality. Type 2 happens during a child’s developmental stage if they’re exposed to a virus, bacteria or some kind of environmental trauma that switches off their latent ability to develop a gender. In these cases, gender can develop at a later stage given the appropriate circumstances.”

“What ‘appropriate circumstances’ are we talking about here?”, asked Bucky.

“The condition hasn’t been well studied”, Erskine conceded. “But in some cases where Type 2 asexuality has occurred as a result of poverty or starvation, appropriate nutrition has triggered a later stage gender development. Asexuality is relatively common in Polio and in many cases it’s irreversible, but the presence of a proto-scent gland on your boyfriend’s neck, his otherwise excellent health and your response to the questions I’ve just asked you all indicate there’s the potential for gender development. I’ve insufficient evidence to confirm whether good nutrition would trigger that, but it certainly wouldn’t harm his chances.”

“Then we’ve got to try”, said Bucky. “We’ve got to give Stevie a chance of a fuller and richer life”

“Well…it’s a bit more complex than that, Airman Barnes. You have to consider this very, very carefully”, warned Dr. Erskine “Assuming Steve successfully develops a gender, there’s absolutely no way of influencing or even predicting what gender he might present as. A Beta would be the safest outcome for Steve, in that his weakened body wouldn’t suffer any major changes, but if he presents as an Alpha, how would he be able to cope with the aggression that comes with that bearing in mind his physical limitations? And how would you feel if your partner suddenly became an Alpha?”

“There are plenty of Alpha/Alpha couples”, said Bucky.

“Yes; yes, there are, but is that something you would want for yourself?”

Before Bucky could answer, Dr. Erskine continued.

“And what would happen if he presented as an Omega? How would he defend himself against Alpha advances?”

“Well there at least I’m well equipped to help”, Bucky insisted.

“And if you wanted to mate him, would his frail body even be able to cope with the childbirth? You don’t need me to tell you how extremely dangerous pregnancy can be for Omega boys, even if they’re in the best of health.”

“Oh.”  Bucky’s face fell. Dr Erskine’s words cut deep. Steve said he wanted to experience having gender, but if that was going to prove a burden rather than enrichment to his life, then was it the right choice?

And then he realised the lesson Steve had taught him from the start. This really wasn’t his choice to make.

 

-*-

 

Steve glowered angrily at them both. “Well, thank you so much for dumping all this on me.”

Sarah’s gaze lowered. “I…well, Bucky and I didn’t know what to do, but…well, once Dr. Erskine confirmed the blood test, you really needed to know, Son. We couldn’t very well keep it from you.”

“What am I even meant to say?”

“Nothing,” Bucky cut in. “You don’t have to say a word. You just have to think about it, that’s all.”

“That’s easy for you to say. How am I meant to be thinking about anything else when I’m in your arms? I’m, well…what the hell AM I? I was happy enough being asexual and now you tell me this?”

“Nothing’s changed,” Sarah insisted. “You won’t acquire a gender overnight; there’s a strong chance you never will. Dr. Erskine doesn’t even know what triggers it for sure.”

Normally conversations around the dining table were happy occasions, even though Bucky’s stomach continued to complain a little at the lack of decent sustenance. This particular exception didn’t remain table-bound for long. Steve rose indignantly to his feet and hobbled away towards the staircase.

“Let me…”

“Don’t even think about it, Barnes”, snapped Steve.

Bucky watched helplessly, as his boyfriend struggled up the stairs. Usually he ascended by himself with practiced dexterity but his anger was clouding his judgement. On more than one occasion it seemed that he would topple backwards and Bucky’s heart flew into his mouth, but he watched and waited, knowing he’d be hated if he got involved where he wasn’t wanted.

“I’m sorry, Bucky”, said Sarah, when he finally returned to the dinner table.

Bucky sighed. “There’s not much either of us can do. You were absolutely right. He needed to be told. What he does with the information is up to him. I just wish I hadn’t even heard of Dr. Erskine.”

“The gender issue would have raised itself, whether he’d told us about it or not. Like he said, nutrition might help but no-one really knows what triggers it. It’s more than likely that nothing will happen anyway, but if it does, then it’s best that he’s ready for it”

Bucky nodded. “We need to reassure him that we’ll be here for him”

“But will we? Or rather, will you?”

“I don’t understand?”

“Well, what if he does present as an Alpha, what would you do?”

“I know. Unlike Steve, I’ve had the time to think it over. I’m not leaving him, Sarah. I promise. I’m with him to the end of the line. But if that’s his greatest fear then he needs to know, no matter how loud he screams at me.”

 

-*-

 

“Go away!”

Bucky poked his head around the bedroom door.

“I said go away, will you listen to me for once?”

“No. I won’t listen, and I won’t go away. I have to talk to you, even if you hate me for it.”

“I don’t hate you…yet”, spat Steve.

“But you could learn to, huh?”

“Something like that.”

Bucky sat gingerly on the edge of the bed.

“Okay. I need you to let it out. Tell me your deepest fears, I need to hear them”

“You only told me ten minutes ago. How would I know that?”

“Because you’re the smartest guy I know.”

“That’s not saying very much”, Steve grumbled.

Bucky paused a beat.

“Well?”

“What if I don’t present? Will you leave me?”, asked Steve.

“Was I going to leave you before?”

“That was before you had the hope of something better.”

“Something better? Stevie, nothing’s better than you, no matter who or what you were, or are or ever will be. And that’s that.”

“And what if I present as an Alpha?”

“You’ll still be you.”

“No I won’t. I’ll be this angry seething mass of hormones.”

“In that case, you’re giving me plenty of practice.”

“Oh, ha ha Barnes, you’re so funny, my sides are splitting”, Steve groaned.

“You think I’d leave you if you presented as an Alpha?”

Steve’s eyes cast down to the pillow “I don’t want you to, but I can’t stop that.”

“Just as I can’t stop being in love with you. If you present as an Alpha, then I’ll accept it.”

“What if I want to knot?”

Bucky shrugged.

“What if I want to knot YOU?”

“Then I’ll take your knot”, Bucky said earnestly. “I love you Stevie. If my boyfriend wants to penetrate me with his knot, then…then I’ll take it. I’d hope you wouldn’t want to hurt me on purpose, but I’d take the pain that comes from mating if it makes you happy.”

“You’d…you’d do that for me?”

“You’d do it for me if you were an Omega.”

“But as an Omega, I’d want that. I’d need that”

“I don’t care Stevie. I love you, which means I want you and I need you, no matter how you turn out, as Alpha, Beta, Omega, or as you are now. I don’t care. You’re everything to me, my sunshine boy.”

“And…and if I’m an Omega?”

“Then I’ll love, and protect and cherish you, and all the choices will be yours. You’ll still be in charge, sweetheart. You’ll decide what you want. If having kids for yourself is gonna be too dangerous for you, then I won’t pressure you in the slightest. We either won’t have ‘em or we can think about adoption if you’d still like us to have a family. It’s all entirely up to you.”

“God, you make this sound so easy”

“It isn’t. I know that, baby, but loving you is easy and I won’t let anything get in the way of that, no matter how difficult it is. I just want you to say it’s all right, and that you still love me and you still want me.”

“Oh Bucky, honey, of course I do”, Steve sighed, wrapping himself up in the comfort of Bucky’s warm embrace.

 

 


	10. Target

 

“Damnit, where are my notes?”

Stark rooted absently through the growing mound of creased, tea-stained stationery on his desk.

“No, that’s not it,” he grumbled, storming over to a series of filing cabinets, sliding open and slamming shut a few drawers at random. He returned to his desk wearing an expression that hovered uneasily between heated frustration and tired resignation.

“Somewhere in here,” he waved his hand at the mess dismissively. “Is a memo from Thurleigh requesting that you remain here with us for “an indeterminate period of time,” whatever the heck the US Air Force means by that. I’d say they were impressed by your training record but since I haven’t been able to find it…”, he cast a cold eye at the chaos, “…I can only assume they’ve got other motives I’m not aware of. What I do know is they’ve been pouring so many troops into the south of England, I’d not be surprised if the island broke in two and that part sank into the Atlantic.  Maybe it’s easier for them to leave you here than waste time in paperwork trying to bring back a single man, and seeing how time-wasting paperwork can be…I can’t say that I blame ‘em.”

Bucky swallowed hard. He’d been secretly pleased when Stark had asked to see him, because he had a question that had been nagging him, but the thunderous look on the Squadron Leader’s face didn’t suggest he’d be a receptive mood to anything beyond meek compliance. Peggy had been gone less than a week and Stark’s office was already in chaos. Goodness only knew what it would be like in a month.

As if guessing his thoughts, Stark said “I’m not saying this is women’s work. But no-one else knows how to organise anything around here, me included. In civilian life, I always had a secretary to take care of this stuff. And when this war’s over, God willing, the first thing I’ll do when I head back to the office is buy that poor long-suffering lady the biggest bunch of flowers you’ve ever seen in your life.”

“May I ask…”

“Ah here it is!” cried Stark, sorting through some fresher-looking papers hiding beneath the mound “Oh…oh no it isn’t”, his face fell again “But it’s jolly useful nonetheless. Send Barton in for me, will you? There’s a good fellow.”

Bucky left the office empty handed and frustrated. He’d spoken to a number of surprisingly helpful and approachable local officials about his predicament but their advice was uniformly unpalatable. Practically every month, they had genuine cases brought to their attention where rationing was causing genuine hardship, but the Ministry of Food remained adamant. Steve wasn’t actually starving to death; he was merely weakened, like just about everybody else in the country after three years of rationing. He simply wasn’t a special enough case as far as they were concerned.

That’s not to say that the officials didn’t try to help. They alerted their local contacts and a dedicated little army of retired Alpha and Beta males, some of whom he recognised from Nat’s pub, had descended on Vyner street with donations of potatoes, carrots and turnips from their vegetable patches, together with spare hunks of bread and cheese (usually a touch stale but nonetheless wholesome). Sarah and Steve now ate soup that resembled a thick stew instead of flavoured water. But it was Peggy who, in her final act as WAAF officer to Topcliffe, advised him that the only way to truly bulk out the Roger’s food rations was to get the military involved. They alone had access to the meat, eggs and butter that Steve needed to grow stronger, as he knew only too well when he dined in the comparative luxury of the airfield canteen.

The door to Stark’s office re-opened and a distressed-looking Flight Lieutenant Barton stepped back out of it.

“You okay, Clint? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Stark’s face right now is enough to scare anybody”, he answered. That was true of course, but Bucky knew his friend well. Clint’s expression betrayed him. There was definitely something else.

“Want to check on the repairs to that engine prop?” Clint asked. That was as clear a signal as any that he’d only confide in Bucky when they were alone in the hangar. Dutifully, he followed Clint out into the sunshine.

“We’ve had new orders”

Bucky nodded.

“We’ve been assigned a new target over Germany.”

“Oh?”

“It’s best I don’t mention the name, though you probably wouldn’t know it anyway, but I do. It’s a small city.”

“A city?”

“Yeah, a really beautiful old one; not unlike York. It’s a port city, you understand, so it has some genuine strategic targets: docks, warehouses, railways. But you know as well as I do that pinpoint accuracy isn’t possible at night.”

Bucky’s eyes shifted to the ground. “We’re going off…to commit murder.”

“Pretty much”, sighed Clint “We’ve got some practice runs scheduled before then. Can I suggest you brief the crews on identifying strategic coastal targets?”

“You don’t need to ask me twice, buddy”, Bucky assured him. “I’ll do everything I can to improve their aim, I promise.”

 

-*-

 

“Don’t you ever get drunk?”

“I’ve got hollow legs” Steve grinned, downing the dregs of his third “Gin and It”, “That’s why I walk funny.”

“That’s in poor taste”

“Hey, I’m allowed to mock myself don’tcha know?”

Steve tentatively stroked Bucky’s hand under the pub table. “What is it, honey? You’ve not been acting like yourself all evening.”

“I’m kinda upset.”

Steve’s bit his tongue. He wanted to say more, but he was gradually learning that talking twenty to the dozen simply masked his anxieties, and it didn’t help his boyfriend either. Sometimes, a little patience went a long way.

“I’m being asked to do something I don’t want to do.” Bucky looked away, unshed tears in his eyes.

“That might…hurt people?”

Bucky nodded, “And I don’t wanna do it, Stevie.”

Steve didn’t say anything more. He shifted himself closer to Bucky, and snuggled into his heat and scent. Bucky carded his fingers gently through the blond hair.

“It’s an old, old city, like this one. A place where bombs shouldn’t be landing. It’s…it’s just wrong, it’s so wrong.”

Steve squeezed himself even closer, nosing Bucky’s scent gland, trying to bring him back to the here and now.

“That won’t work, baby,” he grumbled “Every time I think of you, I think of that city. If I do what I’ve gotta do that that city, what will they do when they come over to yours?”

“Hey…hey!”  Steve pulled away a little to stroke Bucky’s cheek. “You can’t think like that, honey, you just can’t. When you carry out your mission, the orders come from on high, and it’s the same for the enemy. They don’t hold grudges; well, the leader does, but by all accounts; he’s insane…but the ordinary people - the people like you and me - they don’t. They won’t hurt me because you’ve hurt them. That’s not how it works, and you know it isn’t.”

“No, I don’t know it isn’t,” Bucky protested. “Their leader might be mad, but this war’s mad, this whole world is mad. I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

Steve snuggled in deeper. “You quite sure about that?”

Bucky grinned. “Well…I want to be HERE of course, that’s not what I meant…” He sighed, “Why doesn’t anybody ask me what I want; to live with you in love and peace.”

“Bucky honey, you’ve promised me so much, and I’ve not promised you anything. But one thing I DO promise you is that this war will end; all wars end. And when it ends, then we’ll have our own happy ending. We’ll have such a happy ending it’ll be a fairy tale ending!”

Bucky smiled despite his misgivings. Deep down, he knew his boyfriend couldn’t promise happy endings any more than he could, but Steve’s love was pure and spotless. He painted Bucky’s clouds with sunshine. Steve prayed each night for Bucky, and slowly but surely, the pragmatism of a Brooklyn upbringing gave way to Steve’s faith that his little English God would save them.

“I just gotta fly through some dark clouds to get there, huh?” Bucky snorted.

“And you’ve got me to paint ‘em for you until they’ve all gone away”, Steve assured him.

Bucky chuckled. “You…you wanna play our song for me, my sunshine boy?”

Steve placed a tender kiss on his boyfriend’s lips. “It’s past closing time, I should really be helping Auntie Nat…but how about I give you a personal performance first?”

He struggled to his feet and took Bucky by the hand to lead him out of the snug.

“Don’t you need both your sticks?”

“I can probably manage with just the one, if you help me.”

Sure enough, Steve lent heavily on one stick but reached the bar with Bucky’s arm around him, their hands clasped together.

“Evening, lover boys.”

Nat stopped wiping down a table for a moment.  A deep meow signalled that Spitfire had put in an appearance. The calico casually sauntered over from behind a bench to join her.

“I’ll come and help you in a minute, Auntie. I just need to cheer up this big old sad Alpha with a song.”

“Oh…Royal Command performance is it? Can puss and I be in attendance?”

“There’ll always be a space in the front row for you two,” Steve chuckled.

Settling down at the piano, Steve placed his sunshine song on the music stand.

“This time I’m going to sing the second verse especially for you, my love, because I need you to smile for me.

His delicate fingers tickled the keys and, looking directly into his boyfriends eyes, he sang:

 

_“Each cloud you have on your mind_

_You’ll find can be silver-lined_

_If you’ll just make up your mind to smile_

_Though I may fret, I’ll admit_

_You’ll hear me laugh quite a bit_

_If only just for a little while_

_When I pretend I'm gay_

_I never feel that way_

_I'm only painting the clouds with sunshine_

_When I hold back a tear_

_To make a smile appear_

_I'm only painting the clouds with sunshine_

_Painting the blues, beautiful hues_

_Coloured with gold and old rose_

_Playing the clown, trying to drown all of my woes_

_Though things may not look bright_

_They'll all turn out all right_

_If I keep painting the clouds with sunshine”_

 

-*-

 

“Barnes, get in here NOW.”

Without Peggy to grease the wheels of diplomacy and file the paperwork of bureaucracy, none of the pilots or crews could quite be sure how much trouble they were in simply by the tone of Squadron Leader’s voice. He was unhappy at everyone pretty much all of the time.

Bucky stood to attention, saluted and bore his neck contritely. Stark didn’t seem to even register.

“I’m gonna ask you a series of questions, and I want an honest answer to each of them, do you understand me, Barnes?”

“Yes sir.”

“First: Did you, or did you not brief the crews on the identification of coastal targets?”

“I did, sir.”

“Second: Did you answer every question relating to this to the satisfaction of all present?”

“I did sir.”

“Third, and you’d better think before you answer this,” he growled “Were all pilots and crews present for that briefing?”

“Well…yes sir. I mean, all except Flight Lieutenant Barton that is. But he was the one who proposed I gave that briefing in the first place, so…”

“Clever,” interrupted Stark, coldly. “Very clever.” He sighed “Okay Barnes, at ease. But I need you to stay here and witness this”

He walked over to the door.

“All right; bring him in.”

In the absence of Air Force Military Police, Stark had elected to volunteer two random Alpha crewmen to ‘escort’ Clint in. If anything, that was even more humiliating than if actual MPs had been there to do the job.

Clint saluted wearily. Evidently his heart wasn’t in it.

Stark took a seat and thumbed through a military rulebook on his desk

“I’m trying to save your ass, Barton. I do hope you realise that.”

“I’m sorry sir. I didn’t want to cause this trouble.”

“You could have aborted the mission for any number of reasons, but oh no, you have to drop your payload a mile out to sea, and in front of the whole crew.”

“A targeting error sir.”

“Yes, I noticed that in your log book. Smart move to accidentally on purpose fail to attend Barnes’ briefing.”

“I had to find a way out for you, sir.”

“Only it’s not”, Stark grunted. “You can only miss a briefing once. What happens the next time you’re sent on a mission you ‘morally object’ to?”

“I’ll think of something, sir.”

“Of that I have no doubt. And if you were an airman, I might even let it slide. But you’re our senior officer. You’re meant to lead by example, damnit. And if you can’t…well, then I have no more use for you.”

Bucky gulped fearfully, but he had to help his friend. “If it has any bearing on things sir,” he said “I must confess, I was thinking the same as Barton”

Stark shrugged. “But there’s a crucial difference. I like my pilots to think, I even like them to express their opinions, especially when they agree with mine, but I still expect them to follow orders. You went ahead with the mission despite your misgivings, Barnes. I don’t know what gave you that extra strength, but there it is, you did it. Your superior officer clearly did not. Barton has a lot to learn from you in that regard…”

A haphazard smile suddenly creased the corner of Stark's lips.

“And that’s…exactly how I shall deal with this. Thank you for that valuable insight, Barnes. I’m glad I kept you here. I want you to act as Barton’s second pilot and flight engineer, effective for the next six months. Don’t let this man out of your sight for a moment. We’ll call it…peer supervision!”

“I don’t think I follow you sir,” said Bucky.

“It’s really very simple. If Barton fluffs his mission again, he’ll have had more than enough training to ensure that he can’t claim it was an error, provided by the best pilot trainer we have. And if some of your courage rubs off on our wayward Flight Lieutenant, then so much the better.”

Bucky thought back to what Steve had said to him a few weeks before: “The cowards are the lucky ones who don’t give a thought or a care about what they’re doing.”  There was nothing cowardly about Clint’s choice, and Bucky drew his courage from the smile of a blond-haired sunshine boy waiting for him in Vyner Street, not from any vainglorious notions of honour.

 He just hoped that he could assure his friend of that.

 

 


	11. End of the world

 

Steve cocked a lazy eyebrow. “Isn’t it a little late in the evening for you to put in an appearance?”

As he breezed into the office, Bill Milner tapped his nose conspiratorially. “That’s for Station foremen to know and you to find out, old metal legs.”

“Hey, less of the old, granddad.”

“Sorry. It’s increasingly difficult to judge your age these days”, Bill quipped.

“If I was going rotten, you’d have told me to my face,” said Steve. “So, you’re going to have to explain yourself.”

“It’s that first flush of love. You’ve got a permanent sappy grin painted on your chops, and I doubt you’ll lose it even when I share the news I’ve just been told.”

“What news?”

“It seems the Edinburgh train is late.”

“Oh no, not again?”

Bill nodded.

“I wouldn’t mind, really”, shrugged Steve. “It’s just that blessed trip to announce it over the microphone that bothers me.”

“So, you’ve not taken up your boyfriend’s suggestion to start serenading the passengers?”

“Americans”, sniffed Steve melodramatically. “They’ve no sense of occasion.”

“Well, I’ll have to take your word for that”, Bill stretched and gave a sly yawn.

“So?”, asked Steve.

“So, what?”

“Why are you here with me and not home with your family?”

“Why are you here with me and not home with your boyfriend?”, countered Bill.

“Bucky’s in the air…I think.”

“And I’m pulling a double shift because I can’t let you have all the fun with that microphone”, chuckled Bill.

Steve snorted. “So, when exactly do I have to hobble over to it?”

“Just about now I reckon. The train’s late, but I gather it’s only about ten minutes behind schedule, if that.”

“Hmmm…they’re actually getting better”, Steve said, steadily making his way across the room.

“So are you it seems. Your stride’s a lot more confident these days.”

Steve grinned wide. “Well, yes, I must admit, the stiffness is my joints is a lot…”

He was interrupted by the distinctive wail of the air raid siren.

“Oh, for the love of…and just when I was about to give my oration. I shall have to wait for the all clear now.”

Bill furrowed his brow.

“What’s wrong now?”

“I can hear something.”

Steve flashed a wry smile. “I thought you said you had keen Alpha senses, Bill. Even I can hear that air raid si…”

Bill held up his palm, a serious expression on his face. Steve stopped speaking and listened intently.

The low drone grew louder and louder until even Steve could hear it. The next thing he knew, Bill was forcing him to the ground.

“Get down!”

Steve’s ears sang with a series of deafening explosions. The ground shook violently and repeatedly beneath them.

“They’re here. I knew it. I just knew it! The bastards are finally here!”, Bill shouted.

Steve gulped down his fears. “We’ve…we’ve had plenty of air raids before.” He replied, hesitantly.

“You’re right enough there, but not like this”, Bill exclaimed, pointing out of the window at a tremendous swarm of bombers filling the bright moonlit sky.

Bill rose to his feet, pulled his station uniform jacket straight and adjusted his tie. “Are you ready to do your duty for your King and country, young man?”

Steve nodded earnestly as Bill helped him to his feet.

“Then get to the platform and join the rest of the station crew, Mr. Rogers. Whatever happens tonight, we must face this like Englishmen.”

Bill strode out of the door, every inch a true Alpha hero. Steve stared after him in awe. In the distance, he could see the near-continuous flashes of bright light, as the city around him erupted in hellish fireballs. On the far bank of the River Ouse, he could make out the blazing silhouette of the medieval Guildhall reflected in the water.

 

York's Guildhall burning during the air raid of April 29th 1942.

 

The city he called home was now writhing in flames. He tried not to think how far those fires might spread. The Royal Oak wasn’t far from the Guildhall; nor was the hospital. Whatever happened, he had to keep going, and knowing that his mother and aunt were doing the same gave him courage: Sarah would be tending to the sick in their beds, Nat would be serving up warm beer and Spitfire would be patrolling the pub cellar for mice. They weren’t going to stop, so neither would he. If the smoke and flames of the burning city signalled the end of the world for him, then he’d damn well make sure that he was ready for it.

Although First Aid trained (Sarah had insisted), Steve always found the bulky metal Red Cross kits stored in the office far too heavy to carry. And so, he hastily stuffed a canvas shoulder bag with as many first aid supplies as he could manage, and slung it around his shoulder. As he left, he paused for a moment by the door and closed his eyes in prayer: “Lord, please give me the courage that my boyfriend has when he’s fighting his war in the skies. Whatever happens, please help me survive this night so I can be with him again in the morning. Amen.”

By the time Steve hobbled down the stairs, the station platforms were close to pandemonium. Some guards were desperately trying to direct terrified passengers towards the shelters, whilst others were kicking foot-long incendiary bombs which had penetrated the roof off the platforms themselves and onto the tracks where they fizzled and sparked. In the distance, he could see Bill directing a hose onto part of the roof where one of the incendiaries had started an intense fire. Metal support beams were bending in the heat, disgorging their panes of glass onto the people below, the shattered fragments flying in all directions.  Beyond the chaos, he could see the silent Edinburgh train down the tracks shrouded in total darkness, desperately trying to stay hidden and wait it out, but there was no way of telling how long this air raid would last.

 

And then suddenly, with a deafening roar which made Steve cower into himself, two incendiaries landed on the platform within a few feet of him. Adrenaline and instinct kicked in. Using every ounce of his strength, he edged one of the bombs towards the platform edge with both of his walking sticks. At last the weapon slipped over the edge, striking the tracks below with the clang of metal against metal. Then he turned his attention to the next. This one was already fizzling and spitting fire in all directions. Trying to sidestep the flaming projectile, he slipped and slumped to the ground. Looking up, he found himself practically nose to nose with the infernal weapon.

“No”, he screamed at it. “You’re not getting me. I’ve too much to live for now!”

Reaching for a stick, he struck the infernal thing away from him with all of his might. The flaming incendiary rolled lazily towards the edge of the platform and with one final push, it too teetered off the edge.

Steve gasped, his weak lungs straining to breathe in the sulphurous air. A few moments later, an earthshattering detonation rattled the teeth in his head. Struggling to a sitting position, he saw a sea of fire engulfing the tracks beyond. Several carriages of the Edinburgh train had been struck by incendiaries and were blazing furiously now, as the engine began to rush to the platform in a desperate attempt to disgorge its terrified passengers.

Out of the blur of railway uniforms dashing towards the stricken train, one figure paused and grabbed him by the arm.

“Bill!”

“Ah, excellent, First Aid supplies. That’s smart thinking lad.” Bill relieved Steve of his shoulder bag. “Now, we’ve got to get these passengers off before they fry. Do you think you can help?”

Steve glanced down at his singed and blackened walking sticks but shrugged good-naturedly. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Good show”, Bill nodded, then turned back as they both faced the fearful spectacle rolling ominously towards them.

Before it even drew to a halt, several servicemen leapt out of their carriages to help the railway workers training hoses on the flaming carriages. Steve wasn’t the gung-ho type, but he felt proud to see that kind of courage. Like Bucky, these Alphas would protect and defend to the death, and he wasn’t going to let them down. As the carriage doors flew open and a flurry of screaming crying passengers lurched out, Steve stood stoically like a rock amidst the raging current, directing with his sticks, even when they threatened to knock him over as they hurtled past. The train was full, and very understandably, everyone wanted to be off all at once.

After the initial rush, he found himself dealing with the more irate individuals, some demanding that more should be done to extinguish the flames, even though it was clear from the look of the hoses that the water pressure was dropping. The few who demanded refunds on their tickets he simply ignored, leaving other passengers to shout them down. These angry exchanges couldn’t be written up in any kind of newspaper report, no matter how scurrilous the reporter.

Momentarily distracted by that thought, Steve glanced at his watch. Nearly three hours had passed since the first bombs had fallen, and the raid was still going on. Yet to him, it felt like less than three minutes.

Abruptly he felt himself tapped on the shoulder and looked up.

“Sir, I’m sorry”, he began, “but…oh, it’s you, Bill! Phew you had me going there.”

The station foreman didn’t smile. In fact, he looked deadly serious. “Steve, I know you’re a First Aider yourself, but there are a lot of casualties and not many medical supplies left. Did you bring any more?”

“I couldn’t carry more in my bag, it was too heavy, but there’s another spare kit in the office.”

“Can you go and bring down whatever you can please? We’re really desperate. I’ll come and join you once I’ve finished up here.”

Steve started out straight away, but the adrenaline rush from tackling the incendiaries wasn’t inexhaustible; his frail body was begging for rest. He struggled on as fast as he could…but then he saw the flames. He called back to Bill:

“Our office is on fire!”

Bill handed a bandage over to one of the less badly wounded and sprinted up to him. Steve pointed to the window of their office, smoke billowing from a pane broken by the heat of the flames.

“I’ve got to get in there.”

“No, Bill. It’s too dangerous!”

As the station foreman rushed past him, Steve hobbled unsteadily towards a fire extinguisher secured to the gantry, but it was too heavy for him to lift. He dragged it as far as he could, cursing his stupid weak body at each and every faltering step. Finally, he reached the office door, crouched unsteadily, and readied the water jet. He pushed it open and encountered a blazing inferno.

“Bill", he shouted "….Bill!”

Steve inched forward into the office, but the scorching heat and thick black smoke knocked him back again and again. His eyes stung and he began to choke and wretch, tearing wildly at his shirt collar, desperately gasping for breath.

“Bill…Bill!” Steve screamed out. “No!…oh God, no!!!”

 

-*-

 

The silence in the cockpit of Clint’s ‘Lady Luck’, was deafening. Bucky had said his piece, and Clint had said his. They were both aware that Stark was playing childish games with them by assigning Bucky to ‘babysitting’ his superior officer. They were both aware that their friendship was stronger than this. But it stung. Deep down what an Alpha feared the most was not pain or violence or even loss, but shame.

And Clint had been shamed.

Nothing Bucky could say would wipe that shame away. It had to fade gradually through the accretion of mutual respect, and that might well take all of those six months that they had to work together.  Maybe Stark’s ‘punishment’ of insisting Bucky was Clint’s second pilot and flight engineer for such a long time wasn’t so bad after all. It gave them the chance to grow comfortable around each other at a time when most Alphas would instinctively have retreated to lick their wounds.

It was healthier this way, if they did but know it.

Now they were on their way home. That night’s mission was successful, and the flak was comparatively light. There were a few small holes somewhere in the fuselage all right, but nothing the Halifax couldn’t cope with.

Clint brushed his communication mask to one side to prevent the crew overhearing. Clearly, he wanted to talk man to man.

“I have a question”

“Sure. Ask anything you like, buddy”, said Bucky.

“What will you do if they hurt him?”

“Huh?”, Bucky blinked in puzzlement.

“I get what you say. I can appreciate where you get your courage from. Steve’s your example to follow. It makes sense. He’s so strong and brave and he clearly adores you. You complete your bombing missions so you can be with him and it’s part of your mission to get back safe to him. But my question to you is this. What if he gets hurt, or even killed by an enemy air raid? What happens then?”

“I’ll kill anyone who so much as lays a finger on him,” Bucky growled.

“But this is war, Buck. It won’t be another Alpha you can track down and exact your revenge on. An anonymous German bomber and its crew can’t be traced. You can’t seek out and destroy that kind of an enemy.”

“I’d find a way.”

“You know that’s all Alpha bluster. Steve would say as much if he were here with you now.”

Bucky felt the heat rise in his cheeks, but he owed it to Clint not to lose his temper. Besides, his friend had a point. He’d never spoken of the dangers Steve faced for fear such a nightmare might come true.

“I…don’t know what I’d do, okay? I’d…I’d have to think about that, but I don’t want to…”

“Pilot?”, came the voice of the navigator over the headset.

Clint replaced his mask. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“I think…I think maybe I’ve made a plotting error somehow”

“You wanna be more specific there, airman?”

“Well, according to my chart, we should be around thirty miles South East of York by now.”

“And we’re not?”, queried Clint.

“Well…” the navigator’s voice sounded a little shaky. “Does that look like York to you, sir?”

Bucky and Clint peered over to the port side of the cockpit windows. The dawn from the East was – like Steve’s song predicted – steadily painting the clouds with sunshine, but to their North West flared the eerily familiar glow of a blazing city - his city - the flames of destruction twisting high into the sky.

Bucky’s hand flew to his mouth in terror. Had he said too much? Had his worst nightmare actually come true?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The air raid in this story actually happened. Further details will be added in the notes section of the next chapter to avoid spoilers.
> 
> Early in the morning of Wednesday, April 29, 1942, York suffered its worst air raid of the war. Over seventy German bombers took part, four of which were subsequently shot down by allied fighters. In the previous few days, the Luftwaffe had attacked two other cathedral cities, Norwich and Bath.
> 
> These were the so-called Baedeker raids. Legend has it that Hitler, enraged by the RAF’s attacks on the cities of Lubeck and Rostock, picked up a Baedeker tourist guidebook and ordered that every historic place in England marked with three stars be bombed in retaliation.
> 
> Unopposed for much of the York raid, the German aircrew dive-bombed ordinary streets, strafing them with machine gun fire. However, the assault had greater aims than to terrorise the civilian population and lower morale. The Luftwaffe bombarded strategic targets including the railway line and station, although York Minster, the city’s medieval cathedral, miraculously survived.


	12. Squares

 

Stark kept the airfield tightly buttoned up. No-one came in; no-one went out. He’d no intention of losing anyone in the chaos. Aware of the destruction that bombing could inflict upon a city, bomber crews often dashed heedlessly into danger when their own cities suffered a similar fate, and sometimes they never made it back alive.

Whilst that was an entirely sensible precaution from a cool-headed logical point of view, Bucky wasn’t alone in rattling the bars of his gilded cage. For forty-eight agonising hours, there was an embargo on any form of communication with the burning city, leaving the airmen to feed on fear and snippets of heavily censored bulletins from the BBC. Even so, by the end of the second day, the voice on the wireless confirmed that 94 civilians had perished in over three hours of continuous bombing.

94.

Bucky appreciated that it could have been so much worse, but every number had a name, and he didn’t know if Steve Rogers was one of those names. Steve’s innocent faith that his little English God would keep him safe was hard for Bucky to reconcile with the grim reality of his nightly bombing raids but, as he waited impatiently at Topcliffe, it was all he had left to draw upon. For the first time in years, he prayed; really prayed.

Finally, and in strict Alphabetical order rotation, the Squadron Leader granted each airman who had submitted the request, a single five-minute telephone call. Bucky had never been felt so fortunate to have a surname that began with the letter B. Vyner Street had no telephone, so there was only one place that he could call.

All he needed to do now was keep rolling the dice of chance and hope they didn’t turn up snake-eyes.

The hospital receptionist picked up: he’d rolled a six

Nurse Rogers was alive: he’d rolled a six

Nurse Rogers was on duty: he’d rolled a six

Yes, she could be spared the time to talk to him: he’d rolled a six

“Sarah?”

“Bucky!”

“Oh God, Sarah. I’m so sorry. They wouldn’t let us leave the airfield. Is….is…”

“Yes”, Sarah anticipated his question. “Steve’s safe.”

Bucky nearly wept to hear that. His prayers had been answered.

“Is he okay”

“Well, no not exactly”, Sarah replied.

Bucky’s stomach lurched.

“They bombed the railway very badly. He was on duty. He saw his friend Mr. Milner die. He’s…not feeling too good about that right now.”

“Bill Milner?”

“You knew him?”

“I met him…once. He seemed a really nice guy.”

“Steve tried to save him, but he was trapped in a burning building, and your sunshine boy inhaled a lot of smoke in trying to reach him…and what with his weakened lungs, we had to admit him for a while.”

“He’s…he’s okay now though, right?” Bucky swallowed down the sick feeling inside.

“He’s still coughing pretty badly, but we couldn’t keep him here, there are too many casualties with more pressing conditions.”

Bucky gulped. “You guys had it bad, huh?”

 “It was…a busy night”, Sarah conceded, with a typical British understatement. “There were a lot of railway passengers with serious injuries, but the worst…”, she paused soberly “…the worst cases were the nuns.”

“Nuns?”

“The enemy bombers might have been aiming for the railway”, Sarah continued. “But they scored a direct hit on the nearby convent. The building collapsed and half of the nuns were buried alive. I can’t think of a worse fate for the poor sisters than that.”

A wave of nausea overcame Bucky. Sarah’s tone was sad, not angry, but Bucky felt disgusted; disgusted with himself. His Alpha instinct to protect sparked outrage deep within his soul. ‘What kind of monsters would murder nuns?’, that instinct demanded, and yet he knew all too well from personal experience that the German pilots hadn’t set out to do that, any more than he set out to murder innocent people when he bombed German cities. For all he knew, he might have buried countless nuns alive already. Swallowing back the guilt, he brought the conversation back to that singular shining joy in his life that he knew would always paint his dark clouds with sunshine.

“So, if you couldn’t keep Steve at the hospital, where is he now?” he asked.

He’s back at home resting up”, said Sarah. The doctors say he needs to cough the toxins up from his lungs, but there shouldn’t be any permanent damage.”

“Can I visit?”

“Any time you want. He can’t exactly go back to work yet with the station bombed out. He’s still keeping himself busy writing articles for the newspaper, I couldn’t stop him doing that, but he did promise not to leave the house at least. The paper’s sending a young lad on a bicycle to collect his copy twice a day, an arrangement which seems to be working well for him.”

“Damnit Sarah, he should be resting!” Bucky immediately realised that was a stupid Alpha protest, bearing in mind Sarah couldn’t tell her son what to do, any more than he could, but she seemed to guess the stress in his tone of voice and smoothly observed, “Well, when you can come, feel free to try and persuade him of that. Do let me know how you get on, won’t you?”

Bucky laughed, that tinge of hysteria escaping from his voice once again “I’ll make a point of it, Sarah.”

 

-*-

 

Bucky thought he’d steeled himself for the journey, with Clint by his side for moral support, but the hackie was still over a mile from the city walls when the overwhelming odour of fear hit him; a sickly bitterness of lingering incomprehension, claustrophobia and panic stung his nostrils, conjuring up nightmarish imaginings from his unconscious. He wondered if all cities stank like this after a bombing raid; he wondered if their bombing raids had the same terrifying effect, and turning to Clint, he knew his friend was sharing those thoughts along with him.

Even after three days the smoke from smaller fires left to burn themselves out for want of men was shrouding the city in a bleak mist, causing the craggy ancient walls to rear up out of the fog as the hackie drew closer.

“Medieval battlements are no match for modern warfare. Our once proud walls stood impotent against an infernal peril no mind from their times could ever have conceived, much less foreseen; death and destruction directed from the very heavens.”

“I’d no idea you were so poetic,” murmured Bucky, still staring out of the window.

“Oh, those aren’t my words.”

He turned to see Clint holding up a newspaper.

“Yesterday’s edition of the York Evening Press. I guess another passenger must have had left it tucked between the seats.”

Clint pointed out the editorial, underscored with the by-line “Reporter: Steven Grant Rogers.”

“Your boyfriend sure has a way with words, Buck.”

Bucky’s avid reading was interrupted some minutes later by a hesitant tap on the shoulder, as Clint pointed to the building coming up on their left. Both Alphas stared up in sullen silence at the blackened burnt-out shell of the railway station.

 

York Railway Station after the air raid of April 29th 1942.

 

Clint broke the silence “I’m sorry, buddy. I shouldn’t have talked about your Steve that way. I was trying to prove a point but I hadn’t thought about the consequences. This isn’t a city in the clouds, it’s real and real people died here. This is no game”

Bucky snorted. “You know what? This IS a game. This whole war’s a game, and we’re the pawns in it. And what you were trying to tell me that night, is that there’s no safe squares on the chessboard of life. I can see that now.”

Clint paid the driver at Vyner Street as Bucky tried to calm his nerves, forcing himself not to sprint to the front door. To his surprise, it opened a few yards before he reached the doorknob and a very young, practically teenage Alpha with a cocky smile on his face skipped out. Although there was no logic to it, Bucky’s hackles rose, and a low growl escaped him.

“Who in the hell are you?”

“Oh.”

The moment he scented Bucky’s aggression, the young man lowered his eyes submissively and partly exposed his neck. Bucky’s Alpha instincts began to dampen a little.

“You must be Mr. Barnes. My name’s Parker, Peter Parker. I was working with Mr. Rogers and the late Mr. Milner on Wednesday night. Mr. Rogers asked if I’d be willing to give him an interview on the raid from my personal perspective”, he continued, with a faintly self-important tone. “Of course, even though I told him exactly what I’d seen him do, he stubbornly refused to type that part up.”

“Why? What did he do?”

“He only saved half of Platform nine from going up in flames by disposing of two incendiary bombs with his walking sticks. Your boyfriend’s a war hero, you know that?”

Bucky’s irritation at the messenger evaporated. His first reaction was one of intense pride, instantly followed by aching anxiety: what if one of those bombs had actually exploded?

“Er…thank you, Peter. Is he expecting me?”

“Sometime today, so he said, but he isn’t expecting you right this minute.”

“Good.”

Bucky pushed through the door the young Alpha was still holding open and sneaked stealthily towards the brisk clatter of the typewriter. By a happy coincidence, Steve was facing away from him, towards the kitchen, the dining room table around him stacked high with neatly filed papers.

“Guess who?!” he whispered in one ear

Steve’s giggle was interrupted by a wheezy cough. “You think you’re so clever, mister Alpha smarty-pants. I could scent you halfway up the garden path!” He practically leapt into Bucky’s arms, blithely unconcerned by Clint’s presence in the room.

“Oh, my sweet sunshine boy, I’ve missed you SO much.”

A residual scent of smoke lingered on Steve’s skin, and he could hear the dull rattle in his chest, but he was just where Bucky wanted him, safe in his arms.

An hour later, the three of them were sitting on their familiar riverside bench, trying to avoid staring too hard at the burnt-out warehouses on the waterfront as they munched away on their fish and chips.

“Twice in as many months”, said Steve as cheerily as he could. “I’m a lucky fellow.”

“Well it’s to make up for this being a “flying visit” as it were” explained Clint. “Officially, we’re not permitted to leave the airfield another week unless any of us are married to locals, but…you’re the best we’ve got.”

“Oh, I see. You were so desperate for fish and chips, you used me as your convenient excuse eh?” teased Steve.

“Clint’s always excelled at getting us into trouble,” groaned Bucky “This…”, pointing to Steve’s fish laid out in its unfurled newspaper “…is your treat for getting through Wednesday night. And this…” Bucky snatched a chip from Steve’s portion …is your punishment for playing pool with a couple of incendiary bombs.”

As if to emphasise this, Clint picked up one of Steve’s walking sticks and arched his eyebrow at Steve as he tapped at the blackened tip.

“Well if that’s your idea of punishment, then my crime can’t have been too bad.”

“On the contrary. I’m madder than hell at you, Stevie. It’s just that taking food off you is the last thing I’d do. It isn’t…”, he paused to carefully choose his words. “It isn’t…an ‘appropriate’ punishment”

“Oh”, Steve coloured. “Thinking of punishing me in some other way, are you, Alpha Bucky?”

“I’m glad I agreed to come along as chaperone,” sniggered Clint. “Someone has to keep your virtue intact.”

“I can take care of myself”, protested Steve.

“I wasn’t talking about you”, Clint winked.

Steve grinned, but his smile quickly faded away.

“Penny for them?” asked Bucky.

“I was just thinking about how Bill said our flirting put him off his lunch.”

“I read your article about him. He sounds like he was a true hero.”

Steve nodded. “He picked me up when I fell trying to clear the incendiaries. He picked me up when that animal Rumlow used the Voice on me. But I wasn’t there to pick him up. God help me, Buck, but I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t drag the fire extinguisher to the office in time to save him.”

“You did your best, sweetheart.”

“But it wasn’t good enough,” Steve complained, before adding, in more subdued tunes “You know I’m content with my lot. I’d never wish for a cure. I’m happy with who I am, but there are times…there are times I wish I were normal.”

As he began to weep bitter tears, interrupted by the occasional hiccupped cough, Bucky laid a hand gently on his forearm.

“There’s no way of knowing if you could have saved him, Stevie. If you’d been fit enough to dash in there with the fire extinguisher, you could easily have been trapped by the flames along with him, and I would have lost you.”

Steve snorted, “Are you saying you’re happy I’m a cripple?”

“No. No baby, I’m not saying that,” Bucky replied soberly. “I’m saying I’m happy you’re you; I’m happy you’re alive and I’m so happy you’re my boyfriend.”

Steve sniffled, “Can I have that in writing?”

“I think you write enough for both of us, Stevie, but if…” a flash of inspiration came to Bucky, but he wanted to keep that secret to himself, so he continued “…if you’d like my signature on something, I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“One of these days, I might hold you to that mister, if only so you can visit me for a little bit longer.”

Bucky caught the implication, and grinned back at his boyfriend.

That evening, back at the airfield in preparation for the next mission, Bucky pulled out his trusty fountain pen and began to craft a very important letter.

 

-*-

 

"Sister dearest! To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?”

Nat swept into Vyner Street’s living room with a near-regal air, cradling a large wicker basket.

“I had to take dear old Spitfire here to the vet. I think he cut his paw on some broken glass from the air raid when he was out mousing last night, but you know how cats are”, she shrugged “So good at keeping things to themselves.”

“Like feline, like owner”, quipped Sarah. If it wasn’t for your nephew here, I’d barely know if you were alive or…”

Sarah stopped short. That wasn’t something to joke about. Goodramgate received its fair share of incendiaries that Wednesday, and once the medieval timber buildings in the area had caught alight, the flames had leapt rapidly from house to house, trapping dozens of people in their blazing homes. It was only an act of sheer providence that had spared The Royal Oak such a fate.

“Quite so.” Nat drew a tight smile round her lips, and – trying to lighten the tone - turned to Steve. “And of course, my favourite pub pianist hasn’t’ graced us with his sunshine song since then.”

“I know”, lamented Steve. “It’s just that I’ve had some problems with my lungs…”

“I understand, sweetie. I hear about you from your newspaper articles, Mister intrepid reporter. Tobacco smoke wouldn’t exactly improve your health right now.  You’re quite right to stay away but…” she sighed. “You know, I miss both of you. Catastrophes like last Wednesday help put things in their proper perspective. Since I lost Dmitri, I’ve been struggling with trying to run that big pub practically single-handed, but really, is it worth it? I’m not getting any younger and without Steve’s help, it’s been very difficult these past few days.”

“I’m so sorry, Auntie.”

“No. No, don’t be,” Nat said. “You have your own life to lead. Maybe one day you’ll be married and have that family Grandma Rose always predicted you’d have. You deserve your dreams, sweetie. And I’m wrong to keep you from them.”

“Who knows what the future holds,” Steve said. “Maybe one day…” unshed tears formed in his eyes, “Maybe one day Bucky won’t come back, just like Uncle Dmitri.”

“Now, now. You mustn’t ever think like that.”

Spitfire meowed a sonorous agreement from deep within the basket.

“I really miss my Bucky,” sniffed Steve. “I miss him so much when he’s at the airfield and he can’t come home.”

Nat put her arms around her nephew and gave him a careful comforting squeeze.

Sarah smiled to herself. Her son was right. When Bucky was with him, they were both at home. This was their home. The idea whispered like a secret prayer within her heart. Maybe one day, if fate was kind to them, Steve would have that family after all.

 

-*-

 

The next afternoon, Stark intercepted Bucky in one of the outlying hangars.

“Good job on that last mission, Barnes. Surveillance indicates your accuracy was practically pin-point. That munitions factory will be out of action for months.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“We’ve not got the details of the next mission as yet, which is just as well, as I wouldn’t know where to find the paper.”

“The desk is full sir?”

“The whole damn room is full. I can barely clear a path from the door to my chair any more. Why do you think I’ve been meeting people outside my office this past week?”

Stark’s tone remained light. He was obviously still pleased at the way the mission had gone. And there really wouldn’t be a better time.

Bucky seized his chance.

“Sir, may I ask you a question?”

“Hmmm?”

“Why haven’t you hired someone to take care of all that paperwork for you?”

“You think I haven’t tried? There just aren’t any qualified staff. I can find us pilots at a pinch, but secretaries are practically impossible to get hold of.”

“Do they have to be Royal Canadian Air Force personnel sir?”

“Goodness, no. Peggy wasn’t, remember?”

“Well, do they have to be military personnel, then?”

Stark considered that for a moment. “I’m not entirely sure, but I don’t think so. The only military requirement, as far as I can remember, is that they sign the Official Secrets Act. Of course, I’d need to check that in the personnel files to be absolutely sure, but as I can’t even reach my filing cabinets any more…”

“So, you could potentially hire a civilian, sir?”, Bucky persisted.

Stark shot him an amused look. “And where, pray tell, am I going to find a civilian administrator in York that isn’t already gainfully employed or else enlisted?”

Bucky smiled to himself. It was true that there were no safe squares on the chessboard of life, but he could damn well make sure that Steve was on the same square as him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 94 people were killed in the air raid on York in April 29, 1942, with hundreds more injured. The Bar Convent collapsed in the raid, killing five nuns. During the bombing of the railway station, 800 passengers had to be evacuated from a London’s Kings Cross to Edinburgh train. On the same night, two railway workers were killed, one being station foreman William Milner (born 1900), who died after returning to his burning office to collect his first aid kit. He was posthumously awarded the King’s commendation for gallantry, and a plaque in his memory was erected at the station after the building's repairs were completed in 1947.


	13. Wet

 

 

Steve mumbled something in his sleep, his hand twitching against Bucky’s chest. His palm drifted towards the thicket of dark hair between Bucky’s pectoral muscles, in a caressing motion.

Bucky went hard as a rock, Alpha arousal pulsating unabated from his scent gland. Still half asleep, he wasn’t able to fully control himself.

“Oh Stevie…Stevie, my sweet sunshine boy, my baby…I need to knot you so bad”. Bucky grunted “I want to seed you with my babies so bad…say you’ll be mine.”

Steve drifted languidly out of his slumber. Bucky could scent the irresistible tang of Omega need. His Omega moaned in passion, sliding his hand towards Bucky’s knot, caressing it.

“You like that, baby?” Bucky continued, his voice hitching with lust “Oh yeah, you make me feel so good when you do that…you want my seed, my Stevie?…c’mon, beg your Alpha daddy for it…oh yeah…oh yeah just like that, my Steeeeeeeeeevie…”

 .................

 .................

Bucky blinked himself wide awake. “What kind of majorly messed-up dream was that?” he thought to himself as he stared blankly into the darkness. Once his heart had stopped hammering in his chest, he slowly eased himself towards the edge of the narrow camp bed in the airfield bunkhouse, feeling an uncomfortable stickiness at his crotch. Thank God he’d been wearing his boxers.

He staggered bandy-legged into the bathroom to clean himself up as best he could. Luckily the rest of the bunkhouse was empty except for Clint, and he was still snoring loudly in the next bed, so Bucky took the opportunity to crack open a couple of windows to let the scent dissipate.

Gingerly, he crept back into bed and pulled the covers over himself.

“Wet dream huh?”

Bucky nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Clint, you bastard. You could have warned me you were awake.”

“You could have warned me you were gonna jizz yourself, you disguistin’ wierdo. You think I like waking up to a stank like that?”

“I’m...I’m sorry.”

Bucky was at least thankful Clint had the discretion not to turn on a light. The deep shame blooming on his face was not something he wanted his fellow Alpha to see.

“S’okay”, Clint murmured. “You’re missing your Steve. I can appreciate how difficult it must be for you.”

“I’m just glad Stark is keeping us busy. It keeps my mind off the separation during the day, but at night…”

“Has Stark got back to you yet about that office job for him?”, Clint asked.

“Kinda. He says it’ll take several weeks to check with the top brass. And you can bet the hiring of secretarial staff isn’t exactly their top priority.”

“That’s fair enough I guess.” Clint was going to let the matter rest but he’d heard that tone in Bucky’s voice more than a few times now, accentuated still further under the cover of darkness, and it concerned him, as a friend.

“Listen, buddy. I don’t wanna shove my nose in where it’s not wanted but…”

“Why change the habit of a lifetime,” Bucky wisecracked.

Clint deliberately ignored the bait.

“It’s just…is there something screwy happening between you and Steve right now?”

“Huh?”

“It’s just that…I know you’re like a dog with a bone when you get an idea in your head, but you’ve been kinda reluctant to follow this one up with Stark…and we both know you really didn’t have to stay here tonight.”

“We got a mission at 06:00”

“That’s not stopped you spending the night at Vyner Street before, but you’ve not been back there in nearly two weeks.”

Bucky sighed. “All right, all right…you win. Look I’m…I’m worried about this whole…gender thing.”

“Oh…kay” said Clint, carefully. “You mind telling me why?”

“When I crept into the house to surprise him, Steve said he could spot my scent from halfway down the path. You were there; you heard him. And that’s…well, that’s a heck of a lot more than he’s been able to do in the past. I’m thinking maybe those better food rations might be doing what Dr. Erskine hoped they would.”

Clint shrugged. “But I thought that’s what you wanted?”

“It was. Until I thought some more about what that young Alpha said on the doorstep. You know, about the way Steve acted in the raid?”

A puzzled expression framed Clint’s face. “I’m…missing something here, buddy.”

“Steve was an honest-to-God hero, Clint.”

“Yup, definitely missing something.”

Bucky’s voice rose irritably; he was thankful they were the only two in the hut that night. “Oh come on, put two and two together here. If he’s got that much courage in him…it…it might mean he’s gonna become an Alpha.”

“Oh….right…”, drawled Clint sardonically. “Because you definitely said you’d kick your boyfriend to the kerb if he turned out to be an Alpha, didn’t ya?”

“No”, Bucky admitted. “I said I’d still love him and we’d work it out and I’d even let myself be knotted but…” his voice cracked. “Now I’m starting to have second thoughts.”

Clint suddenly switched on the light. Bucky screwed up his face at the brightness, but at least the stench of rutting Alpha had slackened off some, and his face wasn’t glowing like a beacon any more.

“Would this, by any chance, have anything to do with that letter you got in the post last week? You know, the one from Brooklyn?”

“How in the hell do you know about that?”

“I got eyes, Buck. That’s the first letter you’ve had since you joined this unit five months ago.”

Bucky was about to protest, then thought better of it. “I wrote to my folks about Steve. I was hoping they’d be able to help me with some food parcels, since I wasn’t getting anywhere with Stark at the time. My old man wrote back…he gets the asexuality bit. He sounded real supportive…but he’s figuring I’m wanting Steve because he’ll become my Omega, or at the very least my Beta. If he turned Alpha, I dunno what he’d think.”

“James Buchanan Barnes, you should be bloody well ashamed of yourself”, exclaimed Clint.

“What?!”

“You’re gonna let your old man tell you who you can or can’t love? What kind of a chicken-shit Alpha did he raise?”

“Barton, you take that back”, Bucky snarled.

“The hell I will. You think his old man told him who he could or couldn’t date, or love, or marry? Well, do ya?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your damn business.”

“It’s my business when I see you throwing away what you and Steve have together.” He paused for a moment. “Hang on a minute, have you got this letter with you?”

“Yeah? Why?”

“I wanna read it.”

Bucky could easily have refused. He was well within his rights to, both legally and biologically as an Alpha. But Clint was a good friend, perhaps the most trustworthy friend he’d had since childhood. He reached into his coat pocket on the nightstand and handed it over.”

“Thanks buddy. I appreciate this. You’ve been carrying it about all this time?”

“Well, I ain’t gonna be asking Stark to file it for me, am I?”

Clint chuckled and scanned the pages.

“Okay” he observed. “I kinda see the mistake you’re making here. You’re reading between the lines. Your dad says he trusts you to make the right choice in a partner, and that you’ll be responsible and protect this guy. There’s a little dig about grandkids, but only because he doesn’t have any yet; it’s no more than wishful thinking.”

“You don’t get grandkids out of an Alpha or a Beta, and responsibility and protection are Alpha traits”, protested Bucky.

Clint shook his head. “You’re reading way too much into the grandkids bit; it’s little more than a joke. I’m sure your dad’s a man of the world. He’ll know how dangerous childbirth is for Omega boys anyway. And I guess you’ve never heard of this new-fangled thing called adoption, huh?”

“Well yeah, but adopted kids don’t smell like you.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “First of all, that’s a load of Alpha crap, and second, if that were really the truth then I’d still be in the orphanage, 'cause I was adopted.”

Bucky’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “What?

“You heard me right. My mom couldn’t have kids. And let me tell you, I scented the same as my folks within a few months of us being together. So, don’t give me none of that bullshit, Barnes. I know what I’m talking about.”

“Okay, okay…I take it back”, Bucky backpedalled “It’s just that…responsibility and protection’s a real big thing for me. I swore the Alpha Code voluntarily, but even if I hadn’t, my old man drilled that into me for years.”

“And you do a damn fine job, buddy. Your bomber crews thank you for it.”

“But I can only protect Steve if he actually needs protecting; if he’s an Omega. If he presents as an Alpha then he won’t need me anymore.”

“Ah! NOW we’re getting somewhere”, said Clint. “You’ve totally bought into the false stereotype about courage. Alphas are strong and brave and Omegas ain’t, huh?”

“But it’s…it’s not false”, Bucky protested “The Code’s clear about that. Alphas have to be responsible and brave and protective to their…”

“…and you think Omega boys aren’t?”, Clint cut in sharply. “Sure the Alpha code requires you to protect your Omega and kids to the death, but if you die doing that, then your Omega will protect their kids to the death on instinct, even though they don’t have any of the evolutionary strength to do it. They’re almost bound to die trying, but they’ll do it anyway. And in the case of Omega boys that’s assuming they even survive the hell of childbirth in the first place. So tell me, Barnes, who’s the most courageous? Alphas or Omegas?”

That truth slapped Bucky in the face so hard, he fell into a stupefied silence.

“Yeah, I thought so.”

An embarrassed pause filled the space between the Alphas.

“Look”, Clint continued, more calmly. “I get that you’re worried about how Steve’s gender might develop. But we don’t even know it’ll ever happen, and him being the bravest little man in all of York doesn’t say anything about what he’d actually develop into…And anyway, even if he does turn Alpha, would you give up on him just because you figure someone else might not like that? God, Buck, I’ve seen you together. You’re absolutely crazy about that sunshine boy of yours.”

Bucky smiled at that observation. Clint was a good man; a man he was honoured to call his friend.

“Don’t let him go, I beg you, buddy”, Clint concluded. “Don’t let this one-time deal slip outta your hands. You may never get another shot at this kind of happiness.”

 

-*-

 

“So, how’s life with Biggles and his chums?”

Peggy cast Bucky a withering stare, brushing a stray hair away from her ear. “You always were a sarcastic bugger, Barnes.”

Bucky chuckled softly, casting his gaze around the hut. “The place looks tidier than I remember it.”

“Really? Can’t say I’ve noticed the difference myself. Scent’s different of course; these British Alphas smell of tea and old socks.”

“You must feel right at home then!”

Peggy swatted his arm. “What can I tell you? I miss the scent of lovesick Yank, and you’re bringing it right back for me, mister stinky-pants. What a pity it’s not wafting about in my honour.”

“Nope. I only have eyes for your ‘husband’ Peg”.

“You could have fooled me. You’ve been neglecting him disgracefully.”

Bucky shot her a questioning look.

“What? You don’t think I chat to my long-lost friends?”

“It’s true”, Bucky conceded. “I had a few issues to sort out for myself”

“Don’t we all,” she replied, drily.

“So, is my Stevie upset with me?”

“He was quick enough to offer up excuse after excuse for you: all those night bombing raids; the pressure Stark puts you under; needing to be there for Clint, but that faint scent trail of his says different. He misses you terribly.”

“Oh Peg. I’ve been such a fool. I got myself into a real state over nothing and...” Bucky’s words caught in his throat. “Say what? His scent trail?”

Peggy nodded. “Just a little one, you can scent the pitiful need on him if you’re alert enough to that emotion. But why do you ask? Hasn’t he always had that?”

“No, he hasn’t”, said Bucky, excitedly. “Could you tell if it was an Alpha, or a Beta or…”

“No, it wasn’t any kind of a gendered scent”, Peggy cut in. “It was an instinctual one, like the kind you scent on children before they present. Almost made me feel maternal”, she smiled wistfully.

Bucky grinned right back, a heady mix of pride and hope swelling in him.

“But something tells me you’ve not come all this way to Pocklington to swap romantic stories with me, am I right?”

“Maybe I miss your rabbit stew.”

“The way to an Alpha’s heart huh? Not you though; you’re here on a mission.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I can recall your dogged determination when you want something, and I can see that personnel file sticking out of your messenger bag.”

“Miss Perceptive as always,” quipped Bucky, removing the folder. “Actually, in a way, that’s the reason why I’m here.”

“You want me to teach you how to file it?”

“You’re getting spookily close to mind-reading here.”

“S’funny, I never ‘pegged’ you as a filing clerk…just returning your terrible pun”, she added, with a smirk.

“Oh, the teaching’s not for me, but it’s very much for my benefit.”

“A mystery to solve? My, how thrilling! Do I get a clue?”

“Well, let’s just say I hope it’ll improve the mood of your long-lost friend.”

 

 


	14. Secretary

 

Sarah and sweet old Mrs. Potts held up one side of Vyner Street whilst Peggy and Steve held the other, keeping the area clear of the sparse Sunday traffic for a very important test run.

“Chocks away”, hollered Peggy cheerily.

Bucky pushed one foot against the pedal, and the old bicycle, recently treated to half a can of new oil, juddered forward. He managed to wobble about two yards, before promptly falling over.

Steve suppressed a giggle. Peggy lacked any such discretion.

“They say you never forget to ride a bicycle”, she laughed.

“The biggest liar in the world is ‘they say’”, groaned Bucky.

“Never mind,” said Sarah. “If at first you don’t succeed…”

It took several more abortive attempts for Bucky to finally realise he’d lost his sense of balance completely. He’d shared a bicycle with Becca when he was little, but when they outgrew it, the vehicle had become a hand-me-down to his younger sisters, and they’d never been able to afford another one, even second-hand. So, technically, he’d not been on a bicycle for nearly twenty years; plenty of time to forget.

Mrs. Potts’ late husband’s bicycle had stood rusting away in the outhouse of her garden for even longer than that. What Bucky had considered a regrettable reason for not visiting his boyfriend more often - the cost and availability of hackies - resulted in her very kind offer to ‘lend’ Bucky the bicycle on a permanent basis if he wanted.

It was a very kind and practical offer, but it had painted him into a corner. Could he still ride a bicycle after all that time? The answer, sadly, was a most definite “no”.

“Hold still.”

Sarah dabbed at several angry-looking grazes with a disinfectant-soaked cotton wool ball. Bucky sat stoically on a dining chair drawn up to the kitchen sink and tried his best not to flinch.

“Now, who’s my brave little soldier?”

Bucky blushed and thanked his lucky stars that Peggy was still in the parlour teaching Steve the Royal Canadian Air Force system of document filing. Occasionally, he’d catch a fragment of some mind-numbingly boring bureaucratic observation from one or other of them, making him grateful that he only had to worry about flying bombers for a living.

After another twenty minutes of him resting up on the couch, teacher and pupil emerged triumphant from their studies.

“That’s it. He’s all ready for the interview,” Peggy declared brightly.

“If I remember it all”, quavered Steve.

“You’ll be fine. You’re as smart as paint, husband o’ mine.”

Peggy glanced down at the invalid. “Look at the state of this great lump, laying about.” She kicked the couch. “You’ll be wanting me to peel you a grape next.”

“Could you, please?” Bucky drawled, languidly.

Steve arched an eyebrow at Peggy. “Easy on the couch, it’s one kick away from collapsing.”

“I'm not surprised with that big fat dead-weight on it,” she quipped.

“There’s a very good reason why you’re not married for real,” said Steve. “You simply don’t know how to handle men”

“Oh really?” said Peggy, flashing Steve an amused smile. “Perhaps you could enlighten me, then?”

“You don’t make a dog hunt by beating it”, Steve explained. “If your man’s hurting somewhere, then you’ve got to kiss it better.”

Steve leaned down and feathered a sensuous kiss on his boyfriend’s lips. The faint musk of a scent not entirely his own drifted into Bucky’s nostrils. His eyelids fluttered shut and the lids glowed pink, as if he were looking up into bright sunlight. Bucky felt the warmth on his face, the sensation of lying on a newly mown lawn on midsummer’s day…and then Steve’s kiss gently brushed over his cheek, and stole away into empty air.

“Mmmm…that’s nice,” Bucky murmured dreamily. “What was that for?”

“You face looked cloudy, honey. I needed to paint it with a little sunshine,” Steve winked.

 

-*-

 

“Whoa there, cowboy. I already I’ve had my three ‘Gin and Its’.”

“I’m treating you, sweetheart.”

“Is that what you call it? I know better! You needn’t think you’re taking advantage of me, Mister smooth American.”

Spitfire, hale and hearty after his unfortunate brush with the vet, lay curled into Bucky’s side on the snug bench, purring away like a lap cat.

“Well, if you’re intending to rebuff my advances tonight, I’m pretty sure I’m in with this feline.”

“If you’re trying to make me jealous, then you’re going about it all the wrong way,” said Steve.

“Oh? And how am I meant to go about it?”

“Ah…now that would be telling. I don’t want you learning how to get a rise out of me.”

“Why not? You get a rise out of me all the time!”

“Such crude talk from such an angelic Alpha,” Steve giggled tipsily. “Look at you, with your flash uniform and your six-foot-wide grin. You look as if butter wouldn’t melt in that big old mouth of yours.”

“I can think of something else that would melt better in my big old mouth.”

“See? There you go again. You know, you can’t wear me down with flirtation, Bucky Barnes.”

“I’m gonna give it a damn good try.”

Steve hauled himself to his feet. He barely needed his sticks to help him get up any more, though they remained essential for balance when he walked. Bucky felt sure that his Stevie was getting a little stronger, though he felt as skinny as ever as he shuffled his way up into his boyfriend’s lap.

“Now then, what were you saying about flirtation?”

Bucky flushed at the forwardness of his boyfriend, as Steve placed an unsteady palm on the crown of his head.

“S’funny. You’re always saying how much you love my sunshine blond hair, but there’s a lot to be said for this cascade of perfect chestnut.” He carded his fingers through Bucky’s soft brown hair. “You smell so damn good,” he groaned, leaning his face down and unashamedly scenting at Bucky’s neck.

Bucky didn’t think he’d ever been so turned on in his whole life. Unable to contain a deep growl, he worked his fingers under Steve’s thin cotton shirt, caressing the pale translucent skin, tracing the gentle curve of his backbone.

“God damn, Stevie. You’re like air to me. I can’t get enough of you.”

Steve smiled down, a little giddily. “You say the sweetest things, honey.”

Once more, the faintest hint of a musky scent curled invitingly into Bucky’s nostrils; not Alpha, Beta or Omega in origin, but deeper and altogether more elemental: an innocent, unpretentious scent of raindrops and sunshine and springtime, which thrummed with Steve’s need to be loved and cherished. It sang to Bucky’s instinctive urge to safeguard and protect. He didn’t understand what it meant, but understanding be damned. He could wait for the understanding.

“It’s getting late; nearly closing time”, said Steve. “You want me to sing for you tonight, honey?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Sing just for you?”

“God yeah Baby, sing your sweet sunshine song just for me.”

 

-*-

 

The following week brought a new intake of pilots for training. This time, Bucky had taken time to tactfully explain to Steve that he would need to stay at the airfield overnight. His boyfriend had accepted the separation with such good grace that Bucky felt strong enough to throw himself into his duties. Time simply flew past like clouds in a gale to the extent that he soon started to forget which day of the week it was. It took Clint to point out that neither of them had seen Stark recently.

“Has he retired or something?”

“He keeps threatening to,” laughed Clint. “But he’s still here, all right. He’s just not prowling around the huts like some crazy lone wolf anymore.”

“Well, that’s a blessed relief at least. He had us all on edge for long enough. Has he found a new place to skulk about?”

“His office, apparently.”

“But that’s impossible! The whole place is a mess of paper ain't it?”

Bucky was interrupted by a couple of the new pilots, and didn’t get the chance to interrogate Clint any further. However, the chance to sneak a peek into Stark’s office presented itself after a particularly spirited emergency water landing training session. Once he’d stowed the dummy inflatable rafts back into the store cupboard in the main hut, he knew he’d be only a few feet away from the great man’s lair.

The only problem was, although Bucky loved giving this part of the training, he hated trying to jam the dummy rafts back in the cupboard afterwards. The harder he squeezed them in, the more they sprang out onto the floor with a hefty clatter to the floorboards, potentially alerting Stark to his presence. Bending down to scoop an armful of them back up, he felt a tap on the shoulder.

“You need a hand putting those away, Senior Airman Barnes?”

Bucky whipped around. What he saw next made his eyes practically bulge out of their sockets.

“Stevie?”

Steve gently picked a couple of the dummy rafts out of Bucky's arms and slid them into the closet space.

“You need to place them in nose to tail. That way they’ll fit together better, honey.”

Bucky shook his head in bewilderment. “What the? How do you know? What are you doing? How did you get…?”

“Barnes,” Stark bawled from the office door. “Are you harassing my new secretary?”

“No SIR,” Bucky saluted, before hearing the Squadron Leader’s deep chuckle.

“At ease, Barnes. I was just joking with you. Mr. Rogers was good enough to fully disclose his relationship with you, in accordance with official military procedure, during our interview. I said I didn’t object on the proviso that you kept your hands to yourself during office hours.”

Bucky let loose a grin so wide, he looked like a village idiot.

Steve arched an eyebrow to Stark. “See what I mean, sir?” he observed, “Sappy as anything.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he’ll cause us any difficulty in that condition”, Stark agreed gruffly. “Now, it it’s not too much trouble, Barnes, my secretary is taking shorthand and we haven’t the time to stand around passing the time of day with a lovesick pilot.”

Steve looked over his shoulder and flashed Bucky a sly, flirtatious wink, before heading back through the office door.

That evening’s mealtime was an interesting affair, as Bucky’s table squeezed in a very special guest

“Room for a little one?” asked Steve.

“Who’s this, then?” asked one of Clint’s regular crewmen.

“This,” Clint announced, with an exaggerated swagger, “Is Senior Airman Barnes’ infamous boyfriend.”

“Laying it on a bit thick aren’t we, Barton?” warned Bucky.

“Are you kidding? I’d never pass up this golden opportunity to embarrass you.”

“And what’s so embarrassing about me being here?” Steve demanded.

Clint opened his mouth and closed it a few times, but no sound issued forth.

Steve turned to Bucky. “I hear Spitfire went out mousing last night and came back with a genuine Canadian tongue. Now I know who it belonged to.” He looked Clint up and down with an amused sneer.

Bucky roared with laughter at that.

Steve tucked into his dinner with relish and joined in the banter as if he’d been there for years. Any fears Bucky might have had about his boyfriend being with strange Alphas quickly evaporated, especially when Steve strode into the Officers mess later and started banging out tunes on their piano as if he was in the Royal Oak. The pilots and crews were soon singing along merrily.

By early evening, Steve readied himself to leave.

“How are you getting here and back, Stevie?”

“Stark’s going to arrange a hackie. According to him, I’m worth the fare. It means you can come home with me too when you’re not too busy at the airfield.”

“Well, that’s a relief. Mr. Potts’ old bicycle would have been the death of me. But sadly, I’m up early tomorrow morning, so I can’t come with you this time, sweetheart.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Clint chimed in. “I’ve been making some very special arrangements.”

“I think you’ve said quite enough already?” quipped Bucky.

“You’ll find my actions are louder than words.”

Clint stood between them and placed an arm around the mismatched shoulders of both men, walking them towards one of the smaller storage huts on the perimeter of the compound. Turning the handle, he invited them into a cosy little room he’d obviously spent some considerable time clearing, tidying and furnishing. A couple of wooden chairs haphazardly splashed with not-quite dry paint stood to attention on either side of an old-fashioned cast-iron bed, complete with a thick feather mattress, matching feather pillows and crisp white linen sheets.

“There you go. Don’t say I don’t do anything for a buddy,” Clint grinned “There’s even a courtesy chamber pot under the bed.”

“Fancy,” Steve smirked, as he eyed the chintz piss-pot.

“You did all this for me?” gasped Bucky.

“No, I did it for Steve…but if you’re enjoying it too, then I guess I’ll just have to deal with that,” Clint wisecracked back.

 

-*-

 

Bucky couldn’t stop smiling. He kept rolling the dice of chance and those sixes just kept on coming up for him. Lying in that thick feather bed, with Steve tucked into his arms, was the greatest feeling of joy he’d ever experienced. His protective Alpha instincts hummed with contentment. It felt like nothing in the world could touch them.

“Stevie?”

“Hmmm.”

“Why didn’t you to tell me about the interview?”

“You said how busy you were going to be this week. I didn’t want to bother you by worrying over little details.”

“I’d hardly call you a little detail”, said Bucky. “But how did you even get to the main hut from the road? The fields are particularly muddy at this time of year, and I’m assuming the hackie driver didn’t carry you over like I did.”

“Easy. I made my own way through the fields. It wasn’t easy, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”

“But…but how?”

“I got these things attached to the end of me called legs, Buck. Id’ have thought you’d have noticed them by now.”

“You managed all that way through the mud? God, I’m so proud of you, sweetheart”

“Hey,” Steve warned, aping Stark’s Canadian accent. “None of that sappiness, Barnes.” Bucky spluttered with laughter.

“Anyway,” Steve continued, slipping back into his lilting English tones, “If it wasn’t for those extra food rations you got me, I’d not be strong enough, so it’s really you that’s made all this possible, honey”.

“You’ve got a funny way of pinning all the nice things that happen to you on to me, baby,” Bucky grinned. “I know I don’t deserve it, but it sure feels nice.”

“Good, cause you’d better get used to it.”

“How did I get to be so lucky?”

Steve didn’t answer with words. Instead he pressed an intense kiss to Bucky’s lips. Bucky returned the kiss with equal intensity, his tongue running along Steve’s gently parting lips until it slipped through just a little, exploring his boyfriend’s mouth. Alpha arousal leaked from him like he was a rusty old bucket, but he didn’t care. As if to confirm it, Steve nudged his scent gland approvingly with his nose.

“Mmmm, you smell so good, honey.”

“You don’t smell so bad yourself,” said Bucky.

“You…you think I’m getting a scent?”

“I can sure scent something, Baby.”

“But that’s….”

“Shhhh…don’t overthink it. Just enjoy being happy, my sweet sunshine boy.”

Bucky pulled away slightly to see Steve’s face, “Speaking of which, I noticed you didn’t sing your sunshine song for the boys in the mess tonight.”

“No…”, Steve grinned. “That’s our song now. No-one gets to hear that but the Alpha I love.”

Bucky purred with approval, a sudden wild surge of Alpha protectiveness slamming into him. Deep within his core, he sensed something almost primordial oozing closer to the surface, seeping into his veins. The tiny flickers of scent from Steve sparked his hindbrain into the foreplay of mating. But this was deeper than mere schoolboy lust. He’d never experienced a mating cycle, the blissful sense of abandon when an Alpha and an Omega trusted each other so much that they just merged into one during a sexual union that typically lasted for days, but the itch in his veins made him feel that, with his Stevie, just about anything was possible. He swallowed hard, trying to beat the instinct down; trying to distract himself from its primitive power.

“May I stroke your hair again, honey?” asked Steve.

Bucky sighed gratefully; Steve couldn’t have suggested a more soothing diversion.

“Be my guest”, he whispered back.

 


	15. Choice

 

Bucky’s senses felt overloaded. He desperately wanted to blend in with the rest of the church congregation, but his US Air Force dress uniform - whilst undoubtedly the most appropriate form of attire for this sombre occasion - was distinct from the rest of the British and Canadian service personnel and he certainly didn’t want to be seen to be staring about the place like a tourist, goggle-eyed at the architecture of the vast Cathedral.

“Remind me why we haven’t been into York Minster before today?” he whispered.

“Not exactly my cup of tea”, shrugged Steve. “It’s all a bit too fancy in here for my tastes.”

Bucky could well appreciate that. Steve’s simple approach to faith was summed up by his unassuming prayers at the edge of the bed. He didn’t flinch from thanking God for Bucky even when the man was at his side, which was sweet but slightly embarrassing for him. The Bible said God created man in his own image, but it often seemed the other way round. Steve’s God was quite clearly an Englishman: good-natured, modest and given to acts of self-deprecation and fair play. Steve’s house of God was mostly his bedroom, with his grandparents buried alongside the crooked little Holy Trinity church, apologetically peeking out from behind the shop fronts of Goodramgate. York Minster, on the other hand, was the second most important Cathedral in the whole of England; the medieval equivalent of the Empire State Building: bold, flashy and screaming excess from the highest corbelled ceiling vault. Like Steve himself, Steve’s little English God only ever ventured into such overblown palaces of faith on special occasions.

“What do you even focus your eyes on in a place like this?”, whispered Bucky.

Steve gave a knowing smile and pointed to a stone screen just beyond the pulpit.

“I like watching the little stone men stood on their plinths over there”, Steve confessed, bashfully. “They’re all dressed in baggy clothes and they all look so very sad. If I’m looking at them, then I’m facing forward and my face has the right expression on it.”

Once Steve had pointed them out, Bucky spotted the little stone men lined up on the wall screening off the Cathedral’s altar straight away. They must all have been kings because they were wearing crowns, but Steve was right, they all looked pretty miserable. His shoulders started to shake in silent laughter.

 

(Part of the medieval stone 'rood' screen of York Minster depicting some painfully morose looking ancient kings of England)

 

“That’s not quite the effect I was hoping for,” lamented Steve. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry, Stevie. It’s just…it makes me think of that identity parade I had to take part in at the police station.”

“That’s odd. It doesn’t remind me of that at all. I can’t see any tall goofy-looking Americans on those plinths.”

Bucky bit back a cackle, but no fast enough. Three rows ahead, Clint cast them a glance of mock disapproval.

“There, you see?”, hissed Steve “You’ve upset your friend Clint with your uncouth Yankee cowboy outbursts. You happy now?”

“I’m happier that Clint and Stark are back on speaking terms again”, said Bucky. “They’ve been as thick as thieves this past week.”

“Well, they’re really rather busy right now; lots of important matters to discuss don’t y’know.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Now, you wouldn’t happen to be trying to get me to break the Official Secrets Act when the ink has barely dried on my signature, would you?”, warned Steve.

“Wouldn’t dream of it”, Bucky replied smoothly “You can tell me later.”

Steve huffed. “If you’re that desperate for gossip, why don’t you just ask Clint yourself?”

“Believe it or not, we’ve precious little time for gossip.”

“Even six thousand feet up in the air over Europe? Or are you too busy conducting bacchanalian orgies up there?”

Bucky shook his head, trying to restrain a huge grin. No wonder the newspaper was desperate for Steve to keep writing for them despite his new job. He had the most delicious imagination sometimes. “Enough with your grotesque scenes of debauchery; you’ve no respect.”

“I think you’ll find I respect you in a different way, honey.”

“No, I mean for the occasion. This is Bill’s memorial service after all.”

“Bill and everyone else who died in that terrible air raid”, corrected Steve. “But I think I knew Bill Milner well enough to be sure he’d be making snide comments right alongside us, if he were sitting here now.”

To their right, the vicar began to wend his weary way up the stairs to the pulpit. Steve and Bucky lapsed into appropriately morose silence for the rest of the service.

Afterwards, Steve was immediately buttonholed by railway staff, so Bucky wandered off to do some surreptitious sightseeing. He was staring up at one of the enormous stained-glass windows when he heard Sarah’s voice.

“Sorry we got separated. I didn’t think they were going to split the armed forces from the civilians in the congregation. But at least Steve got to sit with you.”

“Yes, that was a pleasant surprise, especially since he’s a civilian himself.”

“True, but he works for you now. Well, part time at least. He told me he’s been granted official permission to use your office typewriter for a couple of hours every afternoon for newspaper business.”

Bucky smiled. Sometimes he wasn’t too fond of Stark’s starchy attitude, but his treatment of Steve showed he had a softer side, when the occasion presented itself, and no-one else was looking. He really wanted to thank the man to moment he could, but the opportunity hadn’t presented itself this time, as he and Clint had left the service straight away, still deep in serious conversation.

“I’m glad he’s still able to write”, said Bucky “Stevie’s got the magic touch with a typewriter. He could make pretty much anything sound newsworthy!”

Sarah nodded. “Speaking of which, there’ll be something newsworthy coming up in just over a month’s time that I think you might want to know about.”

“Oh really? Do tell me more…”

 

-*-

 

“…and of course, the job re-evaluations are going to have to be a lot more drastic than that, but I shall make it my business to be fully involved at every level,” the young Alpha boasted.

“Yes, I’m sure you will, Peter”, sighed Steve.

“It’s only right and proper since I…well, you and I, were so closely involved in the actual incident. We shall certainly need to completely revise the way that guards deal with track fires up to a mile away from the station.”

“Well, yes, thank you for that. I’m not quite sure how much detail my readers will need for the article, but it’s always better to have too much copy than too little.”

“I feel sure you could write an additional article about all of this, Mr. Rogers, bearing in mind how vitally important it is to the safety of the railways in times of war.”

Steve shone the semblance of a smile back at Peter. He could be a very sweet young man, but he took his job so earnestly that it sometimes came across as conceit, and this time he’d lost all sense of proportion, or occasion for that matter.

“The memorial service report needs to take priority, though.”

“Oh, I appreciate that, naturally. Incidentally, did I mention that the railway is going to issue you with a year’s worth of free tickets as a thank you for all your hard work?”

“Yes, you did, Peter. Twice.”

For several minutes now, Steve had been starting to feel distinctly queasy. The temperature in the Cathedral retained its predictable frigidity, even on sunny Spring mornings like this one, but for some unfathomable reason, Steve’s cheeks were burning. He shifted about uneasily on his sticks.

“I think it’s the least they could do for all your heroic efforts on the night. I would have made representation for you to receive greater recognition for your attempt to save poor Mr. Milner from the fire, but with my relatively junior status within the…”

Vast through the Minster was, its acoustics were capable of amplifying the tiniest of unexpected sounds. Two walking sticks rattling down a massive load-bearing stone pillar echoed ominously through the whole structure.

By the time Bucky and Sarah reached him, a crowd of concerned onlookers had already gathered round.

“Stevie!” Bucky screamed.

Steve lay crumpled and shuddering on the floor, a puddle of dark blood sluggishly pooling around his legs.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, don’t fuss so”, Steve murmured weakly. “You’ll…you’ll make a dreadful scene.”

“The hell I will”, exclaimed Bucky.

“Can you tell me what happened?” asked Sarah.

“I just felt hot and then everything stared spinning. But now I feel wet and sticky too. It’s not very nice,” Steve mumbled.

A motherly Beta lady cautiously approached them. “I called an Ambulance from the telephone box outside. They said they should be here in a few minutes”, she clucked. Bucky instantly recognised her voice. She was the same lady, previously dressed in a garishly striped dress, who had spoken to him when he was coming round from Brock’s punch at the railway station. Perhaps she made a habit of being helpful in times of emergency, Bucky mused to himself, in an effort to push down the anxiety surging through his body.

Sarah’s panicked voice brought him back to the present.

“Steve, sweetie? Steve can you hear me? Steven? Can you open your eyes for me please?” She patted his shoulders. “Steven?”

Steve didn’t answer her.

“Stevie!” Bucky cried out, shaking his boyfriend’s shoulders more roughly. Steve’s unconscious body waved about limply in his arms. “Oh my God, don’t you dare give up on me, boy!”

Far off in the distance, Bucky heard the insistent ring of an Ambulance bell growing louder.

“Just hold on a little longer, baby. Just hold on…I’m with you…. I’m with you till the end of the line.”

 

-*-

 

The hospital waiting room was empty. After a while, Bucky almost wished for the company of irritating, pointless, random strangers; anything to distract him. There was nothing to read and nowhere to go, and pacing up and down the corridor had its limits.

After nearly an hour, Sarah came in, dressed in her nurses’ uniform.

“Sorry for the delay”, she said. "They don’t let clinicians treat their own relatives, so this was the best way to get onto the ward and find out what was going on.”

Bucky nodded; his throat dry. “Is…is he all right?”

Sarah managed a tight-lipped smile. “I could explain, but only from a personal point of view. Fortunately, we’ve got a doctor who specialises in this sort of thing. I thought it might be better for both of us to speak with him.”

“ _Specialises_?” queried Bucky. “ _This sort of thing_?”

“You’d best follow me”, she said, leading him off towards the doctor’s offices.

Dr. Bruce Banner was a kindly, if scruffy looking, late middle-aged Beta with thick brown curly hair and caterpillar eyebrows. His smile and his white coat looked equally play-worn and creased from over-use, but he seemed friendly at least.

“Okay. So, as you’ve gathered, young Mr. Rogers is really quite unwell. But the good news is that he’s going to get better”, he said.

“So…what’s wrong with him?” Bucky demanded.

“Well now, there’s the funny thing”, Dr. Banner replied, scratching the back of his neck. “There isn’t anything actually ‘wrong’ with him, it’s just that what’s ‘right’ with him never had the opportunity to occur before.”

“You sound like a smart man”, said Bucky, he felt like saying ‘smartass’ instead but sensibly decided against it. “Still; I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak to me in riddles. Now, what exactly’s going on here?”

Dr. Banner sighed. “In a nutshell, Mr Rogers has just been hit with his first heat.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped. “Heat?”

Dr. Banner nodded. “Under normal circumstances, he would have presented as an Omega over a decade ago, and all this would feel perfectly natural to him by now. But the first heat is often quite difficult for Omega boys anyway, and at his age the experience is bound to be very traumatic.”

Bucky lapsed into silence, trying to make sense of what the doctor had said. Waves of conflicting emotions surged over him, and he was grateful to Sarah for keeping the questions going.

“So, the blood loss wouldn’t be this severe normally?”

“In Omega boys, the blood loss barely registers as more than a slight stain. This was an entirely different situation; this was ten years of repressed heats all bursting out at once. He’ll be very weak from that blood loss and the accompanying shock for several days. I’m recommending he stays here under observation overnight and, subject to his continued recovery, that he’s discharged to complete bed rest for the rest of the week.”

“So, he shouldn’t collapse again?”, Sarah clarified.

“No, that was entirely due to the effects of the first heat.  If that happens again, then of course you should bring your son back and I’ll investigate his condition further.”

“May I ask…a…” Bucky flushed, “…a personal question please, doctor?”

Dr. Banner cracked a kindly smile. “I’m a gynaecology and obstetrics specialist. Almost all the questions I get asked are personal in some way or other. So of course, ask me anything you wish.”

“Steve didn’t have an Omega scent before, and there was no scent when he collapsed. Is that normal?  I mean, does that mean he’s not presented properly?”

Dr. Banner’s smile grew reassuring. “No, that at least is quite usual. The first heat for Omega boys involves clearing the passage to provide suitability for childbearing. That’s not necessary for girls as they already have a dedicated channel for that purpose. That’s why Omega boys have difficult first heats. It’s very rare for their first heat to be accompanied by an Omega scent. You’ll find that develops in subsequent ones.”

 

-*-

 

British hospital beds were hardly what Bucky would have called spacious, but Steve looked almost lost in his, curled into a tight little ball to the side of the pillow.

“Stevie?”

Steve’s pallid face bore a frown that didn’t change at the sound of Bucky’s voice.

“Please…please tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Steve greeted this with sullen silence. Bucky had to bite his tongue to keep from blurting out the first thing that came into his head. His anxiety was close enough to fever pitch already.

At length, Steve murmured in a disinterested tone. “Did you know this was going to happen to me?”

“Now, Stevie, we…we discussed this…remember?”

“Yes, but it all seemed so unreal then, like it was never actually going to happen, but now…” his voice trailed off.

“Dr. Erskine only said it was possible you’d develop a gender, and there was no way of knowing if…”

“Did you want it to happen to me?” Steve interrupted; his voice suddenly rough with anguish.

The misery in Steve’s tone near broke Bucky’s heart.

“I…I didn’t know. The improved food was all for your strength and health. I wanted you to feel better; to feel happier. No-one knew if you’d ever be strong enough to present…”

“But did you WANT it to happen to me?” Steve demanded.

Bucky looked down sadly. “Yes, yes deep down I think I did. I wanted you to share the feelings I had. I thought that would make you happy. I’m guessing you’re not. I’m guessing that you’re real angry with me.”

Steve let out a weary sigh.

“No. I won’t play with your emotions like that, Bucky. I’m angry, but I’m not angry with you. I can’t be angry with you for wanting me to be happy. All I know is that I’m not happy. I’m not happy at all. I…I don’t like this. I don’t want this.”

Bucky desperately cast his mind back to how Steve had helped his unhappiness with the missions. He couldn’t improve on that, so he copied Steve’s words. “Part of it, or all of it?”, he queried.

“All, I think. My stomach cramps, I feel as weak as a kitten, and now I guess I always will be. I’m just a helpless little Omega boy.”

“What?” gasped Bucky.

“When I was just a cripple the worst that could happen was the Voice. Now I’m an Omega…” he shuddered.

Bucky swallowed down the fear. He needed to be reassuring and realistic at the same time. And that wasn’t exactly an easy tightrope to tiptoe across.

“I wish I could tell you that what you say isn’t true, but I’d be lying, Stevie. If you’re talking about the worst that can happen, then you’re right. Naturally, if anyone lays a finger on you, I’ll castrate them with my own bare hands, and that’s not just Alpha bluster. But I know my promises won’t make your fears go away.”

Steve sniffed and ventured a small smile. “Thank you for being honest about it at least.”

“I can’t be anything else but honest with you. We can laugh and joke a bit at a memorial service, but this is serious.”

That had the desired effect, Steve’s shaky smile widened.

“But while I understand your fears about the worst, I’d also ask you to think about the best”

“The best?”

“Your Grandma Rose. Her prediction, it…well, it might come true now.”

“You mean for me to have a family? kids?”

“Maybe? If you want? The worst case is that you’re forced against your will during your heat, but honestly, is that really going to happen in a polite English city like York? The best case is talking to you right now,” Bucky smiled sheepishly. “…or at least, I hope he is? If you still want me?”

Bucky gently took Steve’s hand in his, and looked up with pleading eyes.

“Stevie, I love you. I love you and that will never change. I won’t lie. There was one stupid selfish moment when I panicked about what would happen if you presented as an Alpha, but honestly, nothing else matters but you. You’ve changed, and yes that’s scary for you, but we all go through changes; that’s part of being alive. Some changes are all good, some are all bad, but most of them are a crazy mix of both, just like this one. Sure, if you want to look at those clouds, then they’re pretty black, but you got some sunshine in there too when you come to think about it.”

Bucky paused for a moment to let that sink in, before continuing. “But that’s only if YOU want it, sweetheart. This is your choice, not mine.  I’ll love you no matter what you decide, and it means everything to me to have you in my life. I’d be overjoyed if you still wanted to be my boyfriend. I know childbirth is a real scary and dangerous thing for Omega boys, but you’re braver than both of us put together, and If you wanna choose to start a family one day, then that’s YOUR choice, not mine.”

Steve looked back at him, tears welling in his baby blues. “Bucky, I do still love you. I don’t want you to leave me, but I’m also scared of this change. I feel like something’s been taken away from me. I don’t feel I have as much power to be me; to be Steve Rogers anymore.”

“You’re thinking being an Omega takes away your power,” Bucky said. “And in some ways, yes it does, but it also gives you the power to decide whether to risk a new beginning you couldn’t ever have had before; to make babies and start a family with me. That power is so very special, and that power is yours alone…And as for still being Steve Rogers, you’re gonna keep chewing my ass when I come up with stupid Alpha bullshit, aint ya?”

“Yes, I just can’t help myself,” Steve admitted, with a smirk.

“That’s good news. I don’t think I could live without your glorious put-downs! I told you before, and I’ll tell you again; I’m with you till the end of the line, Stevie.” He squeezed Steve’s hand reassuringly.

“Okay, enough serious stuff”, Bucky continued. “Your mom’s coming to talk to you in a few minutes. I won’t intrude on that. I’m sure you’ve got a whole lot to talk about.  You’re probably gonna be sent home tomorrow, and your boyfriend will be there waiting for you.”

“But Squadron Leader…”

“I’ll go over and speak to Stark myself to set your mind at rest,” Bucky cut in. “But I can pretty much guarantee he’ll grant you sick leave for the rest of the week on Dr. Banner’s advice, and I’m sure if I’m really nice to him, he’ll give me a few days off to be with you too.”

“That’s good, because I’d hate to think you were having any bacchanalian orgies in the sky without me”, Steve sniggered shakily.

Bucky bent over the bed and slid a sweet kiss over Steve’s pale lips.

“I love you SO much, Steven Grant Rogers. I can’t wait until you’re back home and safe in my arms again.”

 

 


	16. Patch

 

After reassuring Steve in the hospital, Bucky was spared the trouble of heading back to the airfield; the airfield came to him, in a way. As he walked the short distance to Vyner Street, he spotted Clint’s distinctive Royal Canadian Air Force uniform on the pavement outside their home even before he could make out who was wearing it.

“You should have come to the hospital, buddy!” Bucky called out. “How long have you been waiting around here?”

“Not very long. It gave me the chance to stroll down that passageway and take a good look around.”

Between every few terraced houses on Vyner Street, a neat little arched alleyway had been built to permit the euphemistically named ‘night soil’ men to collect their malodorous cargo from the outside toilet behind each home back in Victorian times. The Roger’s at No 50 had just such a convenient arrangement linking their home with old Mrs. Potts in No 48.

“Well, you think you know a guy”, said Bucky “Why didn’t you tell me you had a side-line in cat burglary?”

“What? In this outfit?”

Bucky sniggered.

“I don’t dabble in burglary, but I used to enjoy a spot of gardening at home. Haven’t you thought of setting up a little vegetable patch in that lovely back garden?”

“The thought had occurred to me,” said Bucky. “But Sarah’s too busy at the hospital, I’m rarely here in daylight and Steve’s not strong enough to tend one.”

“Speaking of which, how is he?”

“He’s okay”, Bucky replied shyly. “It was just…”, he lowered his voice. “…his first heat.”

“What? Whoa! Congratulations buddy!” Clint whooped, clapping Bucky on the back.

“Shhh, not so loud. You want half the street to hear you?” hissed Bucky.

“But you must…” Clint stole a look at Bucky’s less-than-joyful expression and reined in his reaction “…uhh…you must be pleased it’s nothing more...uhh…serious.”

“Steve’s not so happy about it. To be honest, he’s scared, and I can’t say I blame him.”

“But he…he can’t think anyone would take advantage of him? Not in a place like this?”

“I was standing right next to a fellow US serviceman who used the Voice on him less than six months ago”, Bucky replied pointedly. “So, let’s not fool ourselves into believing the world’s as safe a place as we think.”

“Especially in war”, Clint agreed.

“And if he’d been an Omega in heat at the time of Brock’s assault…well, I don’t want to think about what might have happened. It makes me want to fly right back to Washington and spare that court martial the trouble.”

Clint betrayed an involuntary flinch at the mention of that American airman’s name. Bucky tried not to think about why, but it made him distinctly uneasy.

“Well, I’ll let Stark know the situation”, said Clint. “I can guarantee he’ll make damn sure that everyone in Topcliffe is on their very best behaviour around Steve when he comes back at work.”

“Dr. Banner says he should be well enough by next week, but I’d really appreciate taking a few days out just to comfort and reassure him. Do you think Stark would be okay with that?”

“Oh, I’m certain of it,” Clint reassured him. “His office is so tidy right now; you’d know if there was a pin out of place. We’ve got a new intake of pilots on Friday though, so he’d need you back for that at least.”

“That’d be a pleasure”, said Bucky. “You know I love putting the rookies through their paces, and…I get the feeling I’ve been a bit out of the loop recently, so I’m looking forward to catching up with you”, he added, trying not to sound as anxious as he felt.

If Clint picked up on Bucky’s tell-tale bitter-almond scent of Alpha stress, then he didn’t show it, or at least he attributed it to other matters on his buddy’s mind.

“Listen,” Clint said. “Stark promised me tomorrow off as well. Can I give you a hand over here?”

“Could you? Please? That would be great!”

 

-*-

 

“He’s not still at it, is he?”

Bucky glanced out of the back-bedroom window. “Don’t worry yourself about him, he’s whistling away merrily enough.”

“But he’s been there for nearly three hours. Surely he must be exhausted in all this heat.”

“Your mum keeps bringing him endless mugs of tea. Besides, it’s not all that hot outside, Stevie.”

“It is for a Canadian.”

“Contrary to what you might have heard, Canada is not the North Pole”, corrected Bucky, as he sat back down at the foot of the bed. “Now, how are you feeling?”

“Exactly the same as the last time you asked me, which was barely ten minutes ago.”

“Not physically. I mean, about this whole…situation.”

“Oh”, Steve groaned. “Well now, what’s there to say that I haven’t said already? I’m going to be constantly on edge for the rest of my life, worrying about the motives of any Alpha that’s within ten feet of me, but there’s precious little I can do about any of that.”

“You’ll be safe at the airfield, I swear it.”

“Yes, but I don’t actually live at the airfield, now do I?”

Bucky swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Steve said quickly. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I know you’re doing your best. I just can’t quite get my head around this.”

“It’s only been a day, Stevie. You need to give it more time.”

“At least I’m not working at the railway station any longer. That would have been horrendous. To think that poor Bill would have ever seen me running scared like this…”, he sniffled.

Bucky shifted closer up the bed and placed his arms firmly round Steve’s shoulders.

“Sweetheart, you’ve got to stop thinking this way. I know you too well. You’re a fighter and you won’t let this beat you any more than you let the Polio beat you. If anyone gave you grief about your disability, you gave it back to them with both barrels. It’ll be the same with this, you’ll see.”

“Promise?”

Bucky sighed, stroking away a stray tear from Steve’s cheek with his thumb. “I won’t promise you something I can’t deliver. That’d be dishonest. Only you can promise that, to yourself, by not giving up on the things you enjoy doing. You’re not a quitter, are you?”

“If you’re trying to goad me, mister then…you’re doing an exceptionally fine job.”

“We aims to satisfy”, grinned Bucky, goofily. He leant over and slid a soft kiss over his boyfriend’s lips. “Now is my sunshine boy going to come out from behind the clouds for me?”

“Maybe when I’m feeling stronger.”

“You don’t need to flex too many muscles to give me a smile, do you?”, Bucky persisted.

Steve rolled his eyes at him, but then broke into the widest grin. Bucky’s heart leapt for joy.

“So, how many muscles are you going to flex to prove your love for me, big boy?” Steve whispered into Bucky’s ear.

“W…what?” Bucky gulped, shock and desire mushing together to form a cute dumbfounded expression on his face.

Steve’s grin turned sly. “Well, you see, if you want to me to get better, then I’m going to need a lot more vegetables…so why don’t you get your lazy Alpha ass downstairs, pick up a spade and help Clint out with our vegetable patch!” 

 

Two British wartime posters promoting the use of vegetable patches.

 

-*-

 

“Come in, Barnes.”

Bucky readied himself to stand to attention, but the Squadron Leader was slouched almost casually at his desk with a placid expression. Given that his default demeanour was barely concealed fury, he could only assume Stark was in an exceptionally good mood.

“Take a seat,” he said.

Stark’s desk had a small sheaf of papers heaped in the centre, but absolutely nothing in comparison to how it had been before. He was pretty sure his Stevie could file all that away in less than an hour on Monday morning.

“Clint and I have been busy preparing a response to a proposal from the Canadian top brass. They want this airfield expanding to handle larger aircraft and train more regular intakes of pilots to fly them.”

“Larger aircraft…as in…Lancasters, sir?”

Bucky had heard of Lancaster bombers of course; recently developed and rumoured to outclass the older generation of British bombers like the Halifax, the Lancasters were powerful but nonetheless rumoured to be less powerful and more lightly armed that their American counterparts. However, since he’d never actually seen schematics for a Lancaster, all this was little more than idle speculation.

“That’s the plan, Barnes. We need to expand the runway to take that into account, and build a rudimentary control tower.”

“Sounds…exciting sir”, said Bucky, carefully.

“Exciting being a very helpful euphemism for stressful. I must say, your expressions are becoming increasingly British, Barnes.”

“Should I take that as a compliment sir?”

“I can’t think of a higher one right now”, conceded Stark. “But”, he continued “We’ve still got to remember that you’re an American. And all of a sudden that’s become a very pressing problem for me.”

“Why’s that, sir?”

“Changing over to Lancasters means a massively expanded training programme not only for our own pilots, but for other Canadian flyers as their squadrons are issued with these new aircraft. And that means a much greater role for you in the squadron. Or at least it did…”

Stark handed Bucky a note from the pinnacle of the fresh mound of paperwork.

As he read, Bucky’s eyes widened in shock. “Rumlow’s been convicted?”

Stark nodded gravely. “He could have admitted his guilt at any point during the trial. He was given multiple opportunities, but he refused every time, even at the eleventh hour. Given his lack of remorse, they threw the book at him. Dishonourable discharge, chemical castration and it’s doubtful he’ll see the light of day again until 1959, assuming he survives that long in military custody.”

Bucky swallowed hard. “I’m sad that he kept refusing the guilty plea sir, because he’s received a much harsher punishment, but I can’t say that he didn’t deserve at least a part of it.”

“I, on the other hand, am not sad that he kept refusing. It’s kept you here with us for far longer than we dared to hope, but now there’s nothing to stop Thurleigh from recalling you at any time. And we really need you right now, Barnes, more than ever before.”

“I take it you’ve approached them about this, sir?”

Stark grunted an assent. “The tricky thing is, we won’t have the airfield and control tower ready for at least a few more months. Thurleigh appears in no great hurry for you to leave us at present, but even they can’t offer any long-term guarantees, so…” Stark sighed. “I’m going to have to start making plans for designing a training programme without you.”

Bucky’s stomach lurched again. Of course Stark had to make plans without him. Bucky wasn’t irreplaceable; no-one was. Many pilots didn’t survive more than half a dozen sorties and he and Clint were both expendable. But Bucky didn’t just have his own self-interest to think about anymore. He had Steve.

“I’m sorry, Barnes”, said Stark. “I wish there was something further I could do to help you, but just right now I’m all out of options. Now that the Rumlow controversy is resolved, all bets are off.”

“So, where does that leave me, sir?”

“It leaves you as you always were, a damn fine pilot and the best pilot trainer we have. We think the world of you here, and we’ll continue to fight your corner, for your sake and that of your boyfriend. Speaking of which, I gather his…‘condition’ …is improving?”

“Yes sir, he’s just a little worried about people’s reactions that’s all.”

“Well, he needn’t be. He’s worthy of a great deal of respect in this airfield and he’s damn well going to get it or else; you needn’t have the slightest concern about that.”

Bucky nodded with a smile. His Squadron Leader was doing everything he could to help, on all fronts. The least Bucky could do was to match that with his own efforts.

 

 


	17. Hole

 

Steve’s return to work was, as promised, smooth and entirely stress-free. Stark’s welcome back speech comprised less than ten words, which was precisely the kind of gruff reassurance Steve was hoping for. On one single occasion, a rookie pilot had the temerity to ask about the marital status of “The Squadron leader’s pretty little Omega boy” within Bucky’s earshot. That pilot had promptly soiled his trousers after his previously amiable training officer had grabbed him by the neck and pinned him to the wall, foaming at the mouth with undiluted Alpha fury. In hindsight, this turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as news of the incident quickly spread, and no further object lessons to the rest of the crews proved necessary.

“Well, they do say that learning can sometimes be painful”, chuckled Clint in the officer’s mess later that day.

Bucky shot him a dark look. “It just goes to show that Steve was right though. People do look at him in a different way, and not necessarily a nice kind of different.”

“Some people perhaps”, corrected Clint. “But he can’t go through life worrying about that kind of reaction, or he’ll be too scared to do anything.”

“I know. I told him the best way to get past this was to keep busy.”

“And are you taking your own advice?”, queried Clint, arching an eyebrow.

“Well I’m hardly twiddling my thumbs, am I? Oh…” Bucky snorted. “You’re referring to the diplomatic mess I’ve got myself into here.”

Clint grinned. “You’re getting way too good at this, buddy. When we first met, you never picked up on hints the way you do now.”

“I guess Steve’s rubbing off on me.”

“What you two get up to after dark is none of my business”, quipped Clint.

“With Stevie, it’s always the brightest rays of sunshine, but I’m so scared I’m gonna lose him if I get recalled by the US Air Force.”

“Look, what’s important is being happy now; dwelling on what you can’t control won’t do either of you any good. Anyway, from what you’ve told me, you’ve got plans in place to spoil him rotten.”

Bucky grinned “Yeah, they’re progressing nicely. Plus, I wrote to my folks. They’re hoping to send a little something over here for me, assuming it survives the flight, so could you intercept it before it gets to Stark’s office? I know you have your ways.”

“What, me?”, protested Clint, the very picture of innocence.

“Well, you intercepted that last letter from the States, didn’t you?”

“That was just by sneaking a peek at the postmark…well, okay”, Clint shrugged. “Maybe having a spare key to the post-box helps too.”

“And I’m not gonna even ask how you came by that”, chuckled Bucky wickedly.

 

-*-

 

“Now then, if it isn’t my charming American heartbreaker. What can I get you?”

Bucky smiled back at his favourite landlady. “Nothing thanks, Nat. I just wanted a quick chat.”

“But you can’t possibly talk to me with a dry throat,” she protested, pulling him a pint. “On the house”, she winked.

“Thanks” said Bucky, sipping on his lukewarm bitter.

“Well, you couldn’t have chosen a better time of evening. Just you, me and the infamous Spitfire…assuming he deigns to make an appearance tonight.” she gazed around the bar in vain. “He’s probably hard at work in the cellars. I’d say I don’t pay him enough, but his work is his payment. He’s a very terror to those mice!”

Bucky made a show of hunting for Spitfire too, but in truth, he was just soaking up the atmosphere. There was so much about England that made him feel at home, and this centuries-old bar with Steve’s beat-up piano huddled cosily in the corner reminded him how much he’d miss his new life in the old city should he ever be sent away. As he slid his palm over the polished mahogany surface of the instrument where he’d rested the first ‘Gin and It’ he’d ever bought his boyfriend, he could almost hear Stevie’s sweet Sunshine song ringing in his ears. That thought quickly brought him back to the present.

“So, I wanted to talk to you about Steve’s birthday.”

“Ah yes, that’ll be coming up very soon; and on the 4th of July too. I bet you’ll be really pleased about that.”

“Well, yes it’s a very important date of course, with it being …”

“…a Saturday this year. Exactly!”  Nat completed his sentence for him. “Which means you get to have the whole weekend to celebrate together. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Bucky paused, registering the obvious misunderstanding. It had probably never even occurred to Steve’s family that the 4th July held any greater significance beyond his birthday. As an American ‘holiday’, it wouldn’t even register in their minds. Bucky smiled to himself. It was probably best to leave it that way. After all, Steve’s birthday was by far and away the most important aspect of that day for him too.

“Yes, the 4th being a Saturday is a wonderful co-incidence”, Bucky agreed. “But Steve normally comes to play the piano here just before lunchtime on Saturdays, and I’d like to surprise him when he arrives. Have you anywhere you can hide me away so that he doesn’t see me?”

Nat arched an eyebrow. “You don’t need to talk to me, dear, you need to talk to Spitfire. He knows all the best hiding places in the pub. But then Steve’s no mouse”, she laughed. “There’s a door to the cellar right behind the bar here. Steve can’t venture down there with his leg braces, so you’ll be safe from discovery and at least you won’t be bothered by mice, isn’t that right puss?”

As if on cue, Spitfire materialised from behind a curtain, an expression of supreme feline cunning gracing his bewhiskered face.

 

-*-

 

Bucky peered from his hiding spot behind the bar counter. The entrance to the cellar looked spacious enough at the time, but two weeks later, having squeezed his Alpha bulk through the opening, he wasn’t very sure he’d be able to sneak out without the help of a couple of the pub regulars and maybe a crowbar. He checked his watch, thankful that the US Air Force had issued him one with radium dials. He still had plenty of time.

He hadn’t heard Nat’s three sharp taps on the door to signal him to make his surprise appearance as yet, but he recognised the muffled tinny tune. Not the Sunshine song of course; that was only for him, Bucky sighed wistfully.

Tap, tap, tap.

Turning the handle, Bucky tried his best to clamber out unnoticed, only to lose his footing on the rickety cellar steps and slide right back down again. Nat caught his arm just in time, but the sudden movement behind the bar was enough to attract Steve’s attention. The piano keys fell silent.

“Auntie Nat, are you all right? Can I give…”

Bucky heard Steve starting to chuckle.

“Why, Bucky Barnes, as I live and breathe. You’ve finally lost your marbles. You realise the sky’s up there, you silly pilot?” Steve pointed heavenwards. “What on earth are you doing down a hole?”

“Well, that blows the surprise”, Bucky huffed, as he staggered uneasily up the last few steps.

“On the contrary. I don’t think I’ve ever been more surprised in my life!”

Bucky caught Steve’s arm and pulled him into a heated kiss.

“Happy Birthday sweetheart.”

Bucky had explained to his boyfriend that he had to train some pilots on his birthday, but would join him and his mum for a birthday dinner the day after. Stark, God bless him, had even asked Steve to type up a counterfeit order to that effect by way of confirmation, so he was totally unprepared for the surprise of seeing Bucky at all, let alone seeing him trapped down Nat’s cellar.

“You do know it’s positively teeming with nasties down there?” queried Steve.

“Ah well, that’s where you’re wrong, Stevie. Nat reliably informs me that Spitfire keeps the place clear.”

“Of mice, certainly. But he doesn’t bother the spiders.”

“Spiders?” Bucky yelped, brushing at his shoulders frantically.

Steve began to laugh. “Sorry honey, I was just joking. I’m fairly sure Spitfire attacks everything that moves down there.”

“Including the men that deliver our beer barrels”, lamented Nat. “Bearing in mind the number of times they’ve complained of his violent ambushes.”

“Just for that, I shouldn’t give you your birthday surprise”, Bucky huffed.

“You mean there’s more? Besides watching you curl up in a hole and then prance about in a spider-panic?”

Bucky groaned, but inwardly he was so happy. Steve’s first few days of Omega anxiety had swiftly evaporated, and Bucky’s constant reassurances of love and support had brought the two of them even closer together. He’d hurled himself body and soul into these preparations but, much as he’d enjoyed the planning, he felt sure seeing Steve’s reaction would be the icing on the cake.

Which reminded him.

He reached behind the bar and pulled out a large wicker basket.

“What the devil are you doing with Spitfire’s basket? If he’s a birthday gift for me, then I hate to break it to you, but he’s already spoken for. Besides, cats choose their owners, and not the other way around!”

“Nope, the basket has other goodies in it today. So, are you ready for an adventure, sunshine boy?”

“You’re not planning on taking me down that hole, are you? Though if you are, bringing Spitfire along wouldn’t be such a bad idea, after all.”

Bucky shook his head. “Oh no, we’re going somewhere far more exciting.”

“Oh really? Do tell?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore. But you need to come along with me right now or we’ll be late!”

Steve’s stride had certainly improved, just as Dr. Erskine had hoped. His right leg had sufficient strength for Steve to hobble forward without the constant reassurance of a walking stick, leaving him a free hand for Bucky to hold as they made their way through the winding city streets and towards the railway station. He could feel the twinge of hesitation in Steve’s grasp as they drew nearer to the scene of the catastrophic air raid that had ended Bill Millner’s life.

“It’s okay, Baby”, Bucky whispered gently, brushing a kiss to Steve’s cheek.

Steve nodded and swallowed hard.

They were greeted at the station entrance by an excitable-looking Peter, who started babbling on about anything and nothing in that supercilious way of his for several minutes as he led them over to Platform 6. Finally, he paused for breath, which was Bucky’s cue to cut in.

“Here we go, sir”, Bucky said, affecting his poshest English accent, “Your carriage awaits.”

He swung open the door to a first-class compartment with dark green padded leather seats and marching velvet curtains pulled back into their window-sconces.

The look on Steve’s face was just as shocked and thrilled as Bucky could possibly have hoped for. He jumped in first, to help guide his boyfriend up the step and into the carriage, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Thank you, Peter, we’ll take from here” Bucky called out.

Peter opened his mouth to protest at the curtailment of his speech. Then looked at Bucky’s expression and through better of it.

Steve gazed around him at the beautifully crafted little compartment as he snuggled closer to Bucky. “Are you sure we’re in the right carriage, honey?”

Bucky nodded, taking Steve’s hand in his and kissing each knuckle.

“But how could you possibly afford this?”

“You’re due a year’s worth of free travel, remember?”

“True, but that’s for me only, and it’s for second class travel.”

“Actually, it’s for you and a companion”, corrected Bucky. “But you’re right about the second class part. I simply made up the shortfall. I couldn’t have you taking a trip on grimy second-class seats. Not on your birthday, Stevie.”

“But where are we going?” Steve asked, as the locomotive began to tug their carriage away from the platform with a satisfying series of deep sonorous chugs.

“You’ll find out when we get there. In the meantime…”

Bucky pulled out a little collapsible table from the carriage doorframe and opened up the wicker basket, handing Steve a bone china plate

“It’s lunchtime”, he continued. “So, would sir care for a sandwich?”

“Ham sandwiches!”, Steve exclaimed, “But how on earth did you manage to hold of the meat?”

“Our boss was kind enough to let us have a little something from the airfield kitchens. But that’s not the half of it, because we also have desert!”

He dug deeper into the basket.

“Pah! Clint could have opened the box it came in first”, Bucky huffed, unfolding the corners carefully.  He gingerly lifted a beautiful thick, rich fruit cake, topped with multi-coloured icing out of the box and laid it out with great ceremony on the table.

Steve’s jaw dropped. “But that…that’s IMPOSSIBLE”, he exclaimed. “I’ve not seen a cake like this since ‘39. No-one, not even Squadron Leader Stark, could get hold of enough ingredients to bake a cake as rich as this. You’d have to be…”

“You’d have to be American”, Bucky completed the sentence for him, with a smug grin. “Like me and my folks. So, my mom made it for you. Happy Birthday, Stevie!”

Tears trickled down his boyfriend’s cheeks “That so wonderful, I’m so…I’m so happy”, he blubbered. “And look, they even remembered the date.”

Bucky had been so concerned about presenting the cake undamaged, he hadn’t even thought to read the words that had been carefully iced in red, white and blue: “Happy 4th July.”

“Oh”, Bucky’s face fell. “Sweetheart, I think they might have made a mistake there, I’m sorry.”

Steve burst out a sunshine smile and kissed him gently on the lips. “They didn’t make a mistake”, he replied. “Today’s your Day of Independence, isn’t it?”

“How do you know about that?” asked Bucky.

“You think I wouldn’t take the time to learn more about my boyfriend? Of course, there wasn’t much to learn. I checked the encyclopaedia entry from the public library, but it was Clint who explained the customs to me.”

Bucky made a mental note to save a piece of cake for Clint. If there was going to be any left, that is.

“We don’t learn about this kind of thing in school,” said Steve. “I was very good at history, but I don’t remember America being mentioned even once. All of our history is either British or European.”

“So, what did Clint tell you about?”

“Mostly things I found difficult to understand, if I’m honest, like letting off fireworks.” Steve’s brow creased in concentration. “I think people sometimes lit fireworks before the war to celebrate Bonfire night on the 5th November. But, as the name suggests, that’s more about lighting bonfires.”

“Have you ever actually seen a firework then?” asked Bucky.

“Once or twice when I was very little. I can’t really remember much apart from the loud bangs they made. But all of the other things Clint talked about I didn’t understand at all. He tried to explain a hamburger but it just sounded like a hot ham sandwich, and that didn’t sound very nice at all. And hot dogs. I asked him if they looked like dogs and he cracked up laughing and started talking about something called a Wiener dog? I didn’t understand a word of it; I felt such an idiot.”

Bucky was about to change his mind about saving cake for Barton, but then he realised the difficulty his buddy would have encountered.

“Actually, I’m not sure I can explain much better”, he admitted. “It’s something you have to grow up with; to be part of, to understand.”

Steve cocked an eyebrow. “Perhaps my education didn’t let me down after all.”

“Huh?”

“When I was learning French, the teacher taught me the phrase _“Tradure, c‘est trahir”_ , and I’ve kept it tucked away in my mind for years. Finally, it’s come in handy.”

“You’ve lost me”, said Bucky.

“It means, ‘Translation is treason’”, Steve explained. “And I suppose that’s what’s happening here. I can’t understand something that’s so out of my experience it might as well be in a foreign language.”

“It’s probably treason as well” said Bucky “I mean…you know, with us fighting you and all. I could get arrested for that cake.”

“I’ve had you arrested once before”, grinned Steve. “So, don’t tempt me.”

Bucky forced a weak smile.

“What is it, honey? What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry. I’m being so selfish; this is your big day.”

“I think we just established it’s our big day but for different reasons”

“I’m just…well…I’m just thinking of the future is all.”

“Okay”, Steve nodded encouragingly, his hand pressed reassuringly between Bucky’s shoulder blades.

“With us really getting to know each other so well. I get to thinking about a future together”, said Bucky.

“Do you?” Steve’s eyes lit up. Bucky, on the other hand, felt even worse. Bitter Alpha anxiety bloomed in the carriage.

“But what happens if I get sent away? Stark can’t stop my own people ordering me to go somewhere else.”

“Believe it or not, I’ve thought about this too, honey.”

“You…you have?”

Steve nodded. “I just didn’t want to talk about it and upset you.”

“Shit, that’s exactly what I’d been thinking”, Bucky’s laugh had that familiarly unwelcome overtone of hysteria.

Steve snuggled as closely into Bucky’s body as he could, practically plastering himself to the Alpha to reassure him. He lifted the peaked military cap from Bucky’s head and turned it around in his delicate fingers.

“This uniform marks you out as a representative of your country, Buck. But it doesn’t make you the living embodiment of it. You’re not Mister America or something. You’re allowed your own thoughts and feelings too. I’m sure the US Air Force understands that.”

“Yes, but they’re hardly likely to take that into account when they issue orders,” Bucky said.

“Perhaps not, but they can’t stop you from taking your leave wherever you want to. And they can’t physically keep us apart indefinitely. Sooner or later this damn war is going to end, right?”

Bucky nodded soberly.

“And when that happens, you don’t have to represent anyone but yourself. You choose what you want to do and where you want to go, and who you want to be with. From what Clint told me, isn’t today’s celebration in your country meant to be about exactly that? About being free?”

“If it means I’m free to be with you, sweetheart, then I’ll drop that bomb on Hitler’s ass to end the war myself.”

Steve snorted at that. “So, whatever happens, if we work hard, we can be together, if that’s what you want.”

“Baby, there’s nothing in this world I want more, or ever will want more…but only if you promise me something.”

“What’s that?”

“You gotta say it right; it’s ‘Independence Day’, not ‘Day of Independence’”

 _“Tradure, c‘est trahir”_ , smiled Steve.

 

 


	18. Seaside

 

After tucking into the sandwiches and cake, Steve and Bucky cuddled together watching the endless green fields glide past them.

“Boy, oh boy, I really love this country”, said Bucky. “On the train ride up here, all I could do was stare out the window.”

Steve flashed him a wry smile. “Perhaps so; but you’ll not see any hot dogs no matter how hard you stare.”

Bucky snorted with laughter. “Those are just things, sweetheart. I’d love you to try a hot dog and a hamburger, and a milkshake. I’d love you to watch 4th of July fireworks because they’re so spectacular, but they’re all short-lived. What’s really important to me is what’s right here.” He pointed to Steve’s heart.

“Going soft on me, Barnes?” challenged Steve. “Good!”

“Can you smell something?” asked Bucky.

“Other than utterly irresistible Alpha, you mean?”

Bucky laughed again. “No, I mean…scent towards the window for me, Stevie?”

Steve complied and took a cautious sniff. “Water?”

When Bucky didn’t reply, Steve turned back to see him laid back in his seat, sporting an oddly punch-drunk expression

“Huh? what’s wrong with you all of a sudden?”

During the few moments Steve pulled away from Bucky to reach the window, Bucky had scented the air again to confirm what he already knew – that they were getting closer to the coast - but he also caught the scent of something totally unexpected, something so powerful it made his head reel; a mix of spice and zest and comfort, like a fragrant quilt of joy had wrapped him up, but only for a the merest second…before it was pulled away from him again.

Bucky shook himself back to reality. “Sorry, something strange seemed to happen for a moment there. I’m okay now, sweetheart.”

“It’s my fault”, said Steve, snuggling back up to him “I shouldn’t have pulled away from you so sharply. I know how hopelessly needy you can be.”

“You’re a little shit sometimes, Stevie.”

“Perhaps so, but I’m YOUR little shit, aren’t I?”

“Damn right you are”, Bucky growled, pulling Steve closer.

A few minutes later, and the fields gave way to a view of the coastline. Steve let out a gasp of surprise laced with joy.

“Happy Birthday, sweetheart.”

“Oh my God. Bucky, I haven’t been to the seaside since I was in short trousers.”

“Then you’re overdue a visit, aren’t you? If I’d known, I’d have packed you some of your ‘short trousers’ to wear on the beach. I bet you look sexy with bare legs”

Steve swatted Bucky’s arm ineffectually. “You’re impossible, Bucky Barnes. I’ve not worn anything like that since I left school, so they’re hardly likely to fit me anymore.”

“Your waist’s as slim as ever, I’m sure.”

“Yes, but…you…” Steve looked down self-consciously, “…you really don’t want to be looking at my crooked wasted legs.”

“Hey hey…none of that nonsense from you, Rogers. Every part of you is perfect and every part of you is beautiful”, he kissed Steve’s nose.

“Well you certainly packed your charm. I bet you say that to all the Omega boys.”

“Nope”, said Bucky, emphasising the 'p'. “Your sunshine song is only for me, and my charm is only for you, Stevie.”

“Correction, you’ve overpacked your charm. No wonder there was no room for my short trou…hey…” The penny finally dropped. “What exactly do you mean by pack?”

“Well, we’re travelling light; just toothbrushes and extra underwear. I didn’t want you getting suspicious if any of your clothes suddenly went missing.”

“We’re staying?”

“Just overnight”, grinned Bucky. “I thought you might enjoy making a weekend out of turning twenty-four.”

He could feel Steve’s body positively crackling with excitement, he was trembling with it, so full of excitement Bucky felt sure he was going to burst with it.

“I’ve never been in a hotel before in my whole life”, Steve managed, when the power of speech finally returned to him “I just…don’t know what to say.”

“I didn’t do it for a speech, sweetheart”, Bucky murmured softly. “I did it to make you happy.”

“What did I ever do to deserve a man as good as you?”

Bucky shrugged. “I can think of a couple of reasons, starting with that sunshine smile of yours. But honestly, I’m no expert when it comes to booking hotel rooms. You might not like it.”

“That doesn’t matter. I’d have slept in Nat’s cellar if you were staying with me”, cooed Steve.

 

-*-

 

Bucky wasn’t sure what to expect of Scarborough, but once they’d negotiated their way out of the quaint little railway station, he’d felt there was something very familiar about it. The pretty shops and cafes dotted around a broad stretch of golden beach reminded him of Coney Island. Granted, it lacked the thrill rides, but it more than made up for that with an ancient castle ruin in the distance and a glittering spa building in the latest Art Deco style, crowning the bay.

The only problem was the sheer hilliness of the place. For Steve, descending a steep incline was every bit as perilous as climbing one. Bucky placed one arm around Steve's waist to give him some stability and confidence but he needn’t have worried. Steve’s sheer enthusiasm was generating an adrenaline rush that warmed his heart. Steve was a little boy again, and Bucky was happy to indulge him with an ice cream cone as they rested half-way to the beach on a bench in the middle of a delicately scented rose garden.

“This is so pretty", said Steve "I’m always reminded of my Grandma Rose when I smell them, and I can scent most of these roses even from here. The old Victorian varieties were developed for their sweetness.”

“Nothing smells as sweet as you, darlin’”

“This from mister sweet-talker himself. Daft as a brush you are, Barnes.”

Bucky grinned at his favourite Yorkshire term of affection, and strode off into the flowerbed.

“What are you up to now?”

Bucky returned with a lovely old pink blush rose and handed it to Steve.

“A rose for a rose”, Bucky’s voice grew deep and sensuous.

Steve’s sarcasm died in an instant. He sighed and breathed in the delicate scent. Abruptly, Bucky was hit by another wave of the overpowering spicy zest he’d encountered an hour before. His head swam in ecstasy.

“Bucky? Bucky?”

Bucky blinked back to reality, realising he’d been standing over Steve this whole time.

“Are you okay, honey? Your eyes completely glazed over. Come sit with me on the bench. I’m forgetting how exhausting all of this must be for you too.”

“No, I’m all right, really I am”, Bucky protested, weakly.

“All charm, yet he can’t lie to save his life” murmured Steve to no-one in particular, “But that’s a happy combination for me.”

He patted the bench and Bucky slumped down beside him.

Steve gave his dribbling cornet a lick.

“Where’s your ice cream, honey?” Steve asked.

“I couldn’t afford two.”

Steve rolled his eyes “I do have a wallet you know? Stark does pay me y’know; so does the newspaper when they can remember to.”

“It’s your birthday.”

“And it won’t be a happy one if you can’t share in the happiness. Steve reached into his trouser pocket but Bucky placed a hand on his forearm.

“Actually, I really don’t fancy an ice cream, Stevie. I’m feeling a bit faint.”

“Yes, you do look a little pale, and it’s a warm day to be out in the sun if you’re not feeling well.”

“You and your Canadian definitions of warm, Stevie. I doubt it’s even reached the mid-seventies today.”

“That’s as may be, but once you’re feeling up to walking again, the first thing we’re doing is getting you a drink.”

 

-*-

 

Ten minutes later, Bucky found himself slouched back in the capacious folds of a deck chair within the open-air section of the spa, under the pleasant shade of cream linen umbrella, having just been served an ice-cold pint of bitter by a waiter.

“When I said you needed a drink”, smirked Steve, in his adjacent deck chair. “I wasn’t expecting that you’d turn to alcohol.”

“It’s refreshing”, said Bucky.

Steve shrugged good-naturedly. “Well, whatever you want, my love.”

“Your love? You don’t use that one very often. Are you going soft on ME, Rogers?”

“Maybe a little…can you blame me?”

“No, I guess not. I am pretty special.”

Steve stuck his tongue out, and Bucky reached for his wallet.

“It’s already paid for, sir”, pre-empted the waiter smoothly.

“Stevie?” he growled.

“I told you, I get paid enough for a few treats and I want to see you happy. If getting tipsy at three in the afternoon is your idea of happy, then I’m content to ply you with the demon drink.”

“I can handle my liquor.”

“Yes, that’s what they all say”, quipped Steve. “I’ve worked with Auntie Nat in the Royal Oak long enough to know that those Alphas who claim they can handle their drink invariably go tipsy after the first few gulps of ale”

“You’ve got experience of taking advantage of tipsy Alphas have you?”

“No, but you’re always trying to get ME tipsy, Barnes. I’m just learning from the master.”

Bucky pouted. He’d been found out. “Guilty as charged”, he grumbled.

“There you see. That beer was cheap at twice the price for those words. ‘In vino veritas’, as the Romans said”

“First French, now Latin. Is there no beginning to your talents?” snarked Bucky.

Steve matched wisecrack for wisecrack. “I think you’ll find I’m something of an expert with my tongue”, he simpered.

Bucky nearly choked on his bitter.

Two more pints later, with Steve on his second 'Gin and It', Bucky finally felt bold enough to ask what he’d been itching to since the spa orchestra started up half an hour before. He rose dramatically to his feet, gave a courteous little bow and said:

“Would sir honour me with the next dance?”

“What? But you said that you had two left feet.”

“And so I have, but Clint’s been teaching me. I wanted to surprise you. I’ve only managed to master the waltz though. You told me you could waltz slowly with your leg braces. So, do you want to try a dance with me?”

“Do I ever, Buck. To dance with you would be a dream come true. I’d be delighted.”

The chequerboard dance floor wasn’t entirely empty; two older couples were shuffling around on the perimeter. That was perfect as far as Bucky was concerned; he didn’t feel too exposed as the only one dancing, and the dance floor wasn’t so crowded that he’d inadvertently bump into anyone with his novice dance steps.

Bucky reached for Steve’s shoulder, just as Steve reached up for his

“Hold on”, said Steve. “When Clint taught you to dance, did he teach you?…oh…oh no… this is too precious.” He started to laugh.

“What’s wrong?”, spluttered Bucky.

“Did Clint put his arm round your waist?”

“Yeah? Why?”

“He’s only taught you the Omega’s moves.”

Steve suppressed his laughter when he saw the deep wave of embarrassment spreading over Bucky’s face.

“It’s an easy mistake to make”, said Steve “Clint was taught to dance as an Alpha, and he’s taught you to be his dancing partner without realising that means you’ve learned to dance as an Omega.”

“Oh Stevie”, Bucky wailed. “I’m so sorry. I worked so hard to try and dance with you and now it’s ruined.”

“Not…necessarily”, said Steve.

He pulled Bucky close, whispering gently in his ear. “Do you remember what you said to me when you were worried I’d present as Alpha?”

“Yeah”, Bucky whispered back “I said I’d accept it, that I loved you no matter what and I’d let myself…well…y’know…”

“So, do you still mean that?”, pressed Steve.

“Of course, Stevie. I love you so much. But we both know you’re not an Alpha now.”

“Not an Alpha in the bedroom perhaps. But as I didn’t know what, if anything, I’d eventually present as…I got taught to dance in both styles. I can dance as an Alpha. And that means I can lead you as an Omega. If…if you’ll let me?”

Bucky pulled away slightly to see the look in his boyfriend’s eyes. His expression confirmed he wasn’t being sarcastic. He was totally sincere.

“You…you’d do that?”

“If you’ll trust me, my love. Will you trust me? Please?”

“I trust you with my life, Stevie.”

Steve grinned “I hope you’ll never need to trust me with your life, but I do need you to trust me with your waist. Do you want to try?

Bucky nodded nervously.

Gently, ever so gently, Steve placed right his arm round Bucky’s waist and extended their left hands together, as Bucky rested his right arm on Steve’s shoulder, then with a smooth gliding movement, Steve guided him back - and to the side, then forward - and to the side, in a steady sway.

Bucky barely noticed the slight stumble in Steve’s gait as he stepped forward, and the braces responded with a firm click. Nor did he need to worry about his own feet; they seemed to respond instinctively to Steve’s easy direction. If this was what it felt like when his boyfriend took charge, then Alpha dominance be damned; he was going to enjoy himself. Steve’s baby blues sparkled as he gazed up at Bucky.

“Are you happy, baby?” asked Bucky.

“So, so happy, honey. Thank you for trusting me. It means the world to me to have you in my arms like this. I love you, Bucky Barnes,” Steve murmured tenderly, and Bucky’s heart melted right there and then on the sun-drenched chequerboard dance floor.

 

The dance floor of Scarborough's Art Deco spa building today.

 

 

 


	19. Bathtub

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Polite warning for content of a mildly sexual nature!

 

“You’re not being lazy if you have a disability”, said Bucky as their leisurely ride back up the hill from Scarborough’s Spa building in the quaint little funicular lift slid to a stately standstill.

“So, what’s your excuse for taking the lift with me, then?” asked Steve.

“I wanted to keep you company. Weren’t those views of Scarborough castle spectacular?”

Steve arched an eyebrow “Nothing to do with you being ever so tipsy then?”

“I can assure you, if I was tipsy, being lifted up in this contraption would have made me feel a whole lot worse than climbing the stairs.”

“I’ll believe you; thousands wouldn’t”, quipped Steve.

In fact, Bucky was stone cold sober. Refreshing or not, he was pretty sure the bitter he'd been served at the Spa was watered down. Either that or Nat served hers with an extra kick to it, which he wouldn’t have put past her.

“So, where to now, Bucky?”

“I haven’t been able to make any reservations for a meal. A lot of the restaurants seem to have closed down what with the food rationing and all. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a fish and chip supper later on if you’re up to it?”

“Perhaps, though I’m still feeling full after you plied me with sandwiches, cake and ice cream. I feel such a glutton.”

Bucky flashed a wide smile. “I’ll not apologise for that. You need feeding up, kiddo.”

“Hey, less of the patronising Alpha squawk. Who led who across the dance floor?”

“Yes dear”, groaned Bucky, as Steve giggled and sneaked a kiss to his cheek.

That strange scent Bucky had been experiencing all day suddenly hit him afresh; as powerful as before, but this time he was prepared for it. Somewhere, deep in its bass tones, Bucky recognised the keening need of…of…

“Stevie?” he asked “Can I just check something here. Are you feeling okay?”

Steve grinned widely. “Never been better. Why?...Should I be sick or something?”

“I guess not, I’m just…a bit concerned.”

“Fear not, Sir Knight”, trilled Steve melodramatically. “Should this damsel in distress require rescue, I shall squeal in my very shrillest tone.”

“Now who’s playing up to the patronising Alpha talk?”

“I can have it both ways”, shrugged Steve. “Omega’s prerogative. Hey?” he asked, noting Bucky’s walking pace had slowed to a halt. “Why are we stopping here?”

Bucky cast his eyes up at the truly impressive building right in front of them. “Our hotel for the evening, of a sort.”

Steve’s eyes grew as wide as saucers. He may have learned nothing about American history when he was at school, but Yorkshire history had been a high priority. He remembered being told the Grand had been the biggest hotel in the world when it opened in 1867, and that it had 12 floors; one for each month, 52 chimneys to represent the weeks and, unsurprisingly, 365 bedrooms, the same number as the days of the year…and of course the number of pubs in the City of York. He hadn’t really believed those dizzying statistics a child, but looking up at it as an adult, he wasn’t so sure anymore. It looked positively gargantuan.

 

The Grand Hotel, Scarborough. An impressive hotel, even today.

 

“It’s not actually a hotel right now”, Bucky clarified. “It’s been commandeered by the Royal Air Force, but Stark pulled a few strings. Apparently one of the senior officers is attending a staff meeting down in London this evening, and he’s agreed to let us have his suite.”

“His suite?”

“I’ve no idea what that actually means”, warned Bucky. “But we’ll soon find out soon enough I suppose.”

Steve pulled himself up the outer staircase of the hotel with the use of the handrail ably enough, but he was panting a bit by the time they reached the lobby.

Bucky returned from the lounge - now converted into the Officer’s Mess - with a key. “We’re on the fifth floor apparently, and the lifts are out of action.”

Steve gazed up at the impressive sweep of vermillion carpeted stairs seemingly extending on into infinity, and his face fell.

 

Staircase of the Grand Hotel.

 

“Piggy back?”, Bucky offered.

“That’s barely better than a bridal carry, but I suppose we’d better get on with it”, Steve groaned.

Bucky was hard pressed to complete the task, not that Steve had suddenly become heavier, even with the sandwiches, cake and ice cream, but because he was pressed against the source of that intoxicating scent. Something was definitely afoot with Steve’s body and the headier the aroma, the more aroused Bucky became.

“Here we go. You want to do the honours?”

Steve turned the key and walked into a veritable wonderland. The spacious living room hosted a beautiful flame-cut walnut dining table, a chocolate-brown leather chesterfield couch and two matching easy chairs; the bedroom held a gorgeous four poster bed with a sky-blue satin chaise longue at the foot of it, and  - best of all – the bathroom was fit for a King, complete with the most enormous enamel claw-footed bathtub he’d ever seen in his life. Bucky had seen pictures of swank New York hotels in magazines and, although this suite wasn’t quite as modern or colour-coordinated as its American counterparts, it was certainly up there when it came to sheer luxury.

It was clear, however, that one aspect of the suite was uppermost on Steve’s mind.

“Do you think there’ll any hot water available?”

Bucky glanced at his wrist-watch. “It’s just after 6 O’clock. I can’t imagine many of the residents are taking baths right now. They’re much more likely to be eating. So, if there’s any hot water to be had, now’s as good a time as any to try.”

Steve grinned with cunning, hobbled into the bathroom and turned the hot tap. Tepid, then warm and, after less than a minute, steaming hot water flowed out. He quickly pushed in the plug.

“Oh Bucky. My first real bath since…well since I was small enough to fit into a basin!”

Bucky laughed. He’d remembered seeing his own younger siblings being bathed in basins and bowls when he was growing up. It made him feel warm and fuzzy inside to think of his Stevie like that, sitting in a bowl while Sarah bathed him…

…and that gave him an idea.

“Stevie, sweetheart. Can I ask a favour of you?” he asked, as he stood sentry in the living room, giving his boyfriend the privacy to undress in private.

“What’s that, Buck?”

“I…I know this sounds silly…”

“Nothing’s silly, honey…just tell me.”

“Well…I’d really like it if you’d let me bathe you.”

Steve’s head popped out from the bathroom door, his blond hair ruffled into unkempt calf-licks from pulling off his undershirt.

“That’s a…a thing you’d like to do, is it?”

Bucky nodded furiously, too embarrassed to elaborate further.

“Then…uhmm…okay.”

“Wow…I didn’t think that would be so easy.”

Steve grinned. “Well, there’s two things I have to say about that. First, this is our day. It’s my birthday, but it’s your special day too. So, if it makes you happy, then it makes me happy.”

“Oh it does huh?…and second?”

“Second”, Steve blushed. “This tub’s so high I don’t think I could get in by myself anyway, so I could really do with your help.”

“You want me to lift you into the tub?”

“If that’s okay?”

Bucky ripped off his clothes like they were on fire.

“Steady on. I didn’t say you had to get naked.”

“Well. I can’t risk getting my uniform wet, now can I?”

Steve chuckled to himself and headed back into the bathroom, as Bucky hung up his jacket and trousers as neatly as his faltering hands could manage.

He waited until he heard the familiar thud of Steve’s leg braces hitting the floor before tapping at the door gently: “Are you ready for me, Stevie?”

 

“Stevie?”

 

…

 

“Can I come in?”

 

…

 

“Stevie, sweetheart?”

 

…

 

Trying to push down a sudden surge of Alpha anxiety, Bucky very slowly inched the door open. He could see Steve standing naked, his back to the door, just gazing down at the tiled bathroom floor in silence.

 

Something was wrong.

 

Very wrong.

 

“Please don’t be scared, sweetheart”, said Bucky. “I’m just coming in. Is…is everything okay?”

He walked right up to Steve and looked down. They both had the same view of Steve’s little white boxer shorts crumpled up on the floor, the crotch betraying a tell-tale bloodstain.

Suddenly all the pieces slid into place. Why hadn’t Bucky thought of that? The mysterious powerful scent; the cheerfulness and sudden burst of strength; the vitality. All these were clear signs of the onset of heat in an Omega boy. He knew all that from high school, but of course his Stevie hadn’t ever experienced that for himself.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s…it’s just your heat.”

Steve’s eyes pricked with unshed tears. He gulped.

“What happens now?” he asked, his voice shaky. “Do we have to fight Alphas off? I’m…I’m so scared Bucky.”

Bucky could tell that without Steve having to say a word. He could smell the fear. Combined with the heat scent, it near turned his stomach with anguish. He took in a deep breath.

“No, Stevie, that’s not how it works. Your heat is powerful to other Alphas; Betas too though not as strongly, but you’re here with me, and you’re safe. No Alpha with even a shred of humanity would take advantage of an Omega in heat like that.”

Gingerly, he placed a hand into the hollow of Steve’s back and rubbed reassuring circles into it.

“You’re okay, sweetheart; You’re all right. Please don’t be scared. Everything is going to be just fine, I promise, I promise.” Bucky kept repeating the reassurances like a mantra.

“I smell…icky. Do I smell that bad to you?”

“No baby, you smell lovely. I love you Stevie, I love you so much”

Gradually, the fear scent dissipated, leaving behind the tantalising tang of Omega heat curling into Bucky’s nostrils.

“Do you…do you still want a bath?”

Steve nodded. “As long as I don’t make the bath dirty with it.”

“You won’t, sweetheart. It’s only a tiny trickle of blood, and anyway it’s gone now. You’re fine.”

He lifted Steve’s frail body up and placed him very gently in the water.

“Oh, that’s nice. It’s lovely and warm. It makes me feel so much better.”

“I bet it does. We have showers at Topcliffe of course, but even I haven’t had a bath since I first came here.”

“Do you,…want to join me?”

“Sweetheart, I’d love to but…listen, you do appreciate what this scent does to me, don’t you?”

“If it’s anything like your scent is doing to me right now, then yes”, said Steve, his voice hoarse.

Bucky closed his eyes, trying to think about anything but the nag, nag, nag of the next question. Don’t ask him, Buck; Don’t ask him; Don’t ask…

“What is it doing to you?”

“It’s making me have…” Steve blushed bright red, and not from the water temperature “…Have thoughts of you. Thoughts of you breeding me, of you filling me up…right here, right now.”

Bucky’s urgent erection nearly drained the blood from the rest of his body. Alpha desire burst out of him like a wild animal. He bit his lip and reached for a washcloth, gently sliding it over the Omega’s smooth skin, trying to plug his desires with what had always worked for him in the past – the instinct to take responsibility, to care and protect.

“I want that too, baby, I really do. But it’s not my place to want that. I told you before, only you have the power to say yes or no, or whether you want to take the risk of having a baby or not. And I respect and honour your choice. You never have to do anything that you don’t want…”

“I want it”, Steve blurted out. “I can’t wait. I need you to knot me.”

“What?” Bucky’s voice was high and strained. “But we…we can’t. I don’t have any condoms on me”

Steve nodded, swallowing thickly. “You’re right. We can’t. It’s wrong, it’s so wrong to bring a baby into the world in wartime. I probably wouldn’t survive the pregnancy in my condition anyway and I can’t…I can’t do that to you either, Bucky. You’ve got so much to live for, I can’t trap you like that.”

Steve had meant well, of course. His logic, both biologically and ethically, made perfect sense, but he couldn’t have said anything more likely to inflame Bucky’s sensitivities.

“I understand your physical concerns Stevie, but you are NOT trapping me”, he growled. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more than to start a family with you.”

After hearing that heartfelt assurance, Omega need pulsated out of Steve’s scent gland. The need to mate, nest, raise, love, cherish, protect – every single emotion that gave Bucky’s life purpose smacked him squarely in the chest. He couldn’t contain a deep low mating growl.

Unable to make sense of his emotions, Steve began to hiccup little cries, inadvertently triggering Bucky’s mating instincts.

Without even realising he was doing it, Bucky climbed clumsily into the tub, dizzy with desire, the heat scent digging into his skin.

“Shhhh, shhhhh baby, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare ya, I didn’t mean to hurt ya.” He went back to stroking his boyfriend’s back in little circular motions to reassure and comfort him. He was trying to be non-sexual in his contact, but the scents of desire were hitting them both in waves, and he understood that if the heat was eroding his resolve, then the scent of his desire would be eroding Steve’s.

“Would the tub water wash away your seed, Bucky?”

“I honestly don’t know, I don’t know enough about birth control to be sure.”

Steve began to weep with conflicting emotions. Bucky was utterly lost. He didn’t know what to do or say. All he had left were his instincts, and they were pulling him in entirely the wrong direction.

“I’m losing my mind here”, cried Steve. “Please help me?”

“You need to be opened up, baby. You can’t just take a knot the first time.”

“Whatever you say, Bucky. I’m yours.”

Those words drove hard and fast into Bucky’s instincts – “his”: Stevie was his, his, _his_ …

As carefully and considerately as he could in this state, he lifted Steve into a sitting position on his hip. He could smell the slick running down out of his Omega boy’s passage, the heady scent coursing through the air, driving him wild. His fingers slipped through it, as he steadily widened Steve’s passage in preparation. Bringing his fingers to his nostrils, he inhaled the sheer golden ecstasy of it all.

“Ohhhhh….my beautiful sunshine boy. You ready, baby?”

“Yes, Bucky, I’m ready, I’m ready, my love.”

“I’m going to let you lower yourself onto me. That way you control how far you go and how you feel. If it’s uncomfortable, we don’t have to do anything. It’s still your choice. You can stop any time you want.”

Steve nodded, but his body was trembling. His weak legs couldn’t hold himself in this squatting position for more than a few seconds. Bucky placed his hands around Steve’s waist, supporting him as he lowered himself slowly.

The feeling of slick and sweet Omega passage gently encircling him was beyond the realms of description for Bucky. Every instinct cried out to him to breed, to seed, to mate, to knot and to protect…forever.

His bottom lip trembled. “Baby, are you…are you okay?”

Steve let out a shudder. “I…I…no…no…NO…we…we shouldn’t be doing this…not without protection. I’m scared.  Buck…Bucky get me off of you.”

Bucky felt his heart was being torn out of his chest, but with all of his strength he lifted Steve himself before he knotted. The moment the fresh air hit the engorged head of his shaft, he voiced an anguished cry and shot his seed over Steve’s bottom and inner thighs. As quickly as his sluggish postcoital reflexes would allow, he reached for the washcloth and wiped the seed away as carefully as he could.

“It’s okay Stevie. I think you’re safe. I’m pretty sure I came outside of you. It’s all right, sweetheart.”

He glanced up to see Steve was standing like a new-born fawn on his crooked legs in the middle of the bathtub, shuddering and scared and cold.

“Oh baby, I’m sorry. Come, let’s get you dry and warm.”

Bucky stepped out the bath, took a big fluffy towel and laid it on the floor. Then he lifted his boyfriend bodily out of the tub and laid him onto it, patting him dry with a second towel.

“There…there. Is that better?”

Steve was weeping silently. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I..I suppose you’re really upset now.”

“Upset? Why would I be upset.”

“That I stopped you.”

“God, no, Stevie, sweetheart…it’s your choice. If you don’t want me to knot you, I won’t. If you don’t want to risk having a baby, then we…we won’t.  You control your own life and any life you might want in the future. Please don’t think I’m upset or angry or anything like that.”

“I still want you, honey. It’s just…I need us to be safe. Do you think you could get some protection while I recover and dry myself off?”

“That’s a great idea, sweetheart, there’s got to be somewhere open in town that I can buy some condoms from.  I’ll take the key with me but you flip the deadbolt on the door okay? So that you’re not afraid while I’m away.”

“Thank you, Bucky. You’re so good to me.”

“I told you. End of the line, Sweetheart.”

Steve’s face still looked etched with worry when Bucky returned half an hour later with two portions of fish and chips wrapped in newspaper.

“Here we go, Stevie. A little something to keep you going”, Bucky smiled brightly.

“You and your fish and chips, honey”, Steve laughed “Do they even have fish and chips in New York?”

“I don’t think so, but for you I’d make sure they import ‘em!”

“You’re daft as a brush, Buck. But you made a wise choice; these are really good.”

“Caught locally, so they didn’t have to travel far, unlike your Uncle Dmitri’s stinky fish.”

Steve giggled. “You’ve got quite a memory for my relatives, honey. You sure you don’t want to become one?”

Bucky’s cocked an eyebrow at him. “Ask me again sometime.”

“That’s the problem with you. I can never tell what’s going on in that big ol’ American head of yours.”

“And do you know what the problem with you is, Stevie?”

“No?”

“Nothing!”

“Oh, there you go again with your insatiable charm. You’re just too slick for your own good, Barnes.”

Bucky was glad he’d just finished the fish supper. Steve’s mention of slick had triggered his scenting. And Steve’s heat was creeping back. This time, however, he was more than ready.

Only a few minutes later, the grease wiped from their fingers and faces, Steve and Bucky were using those fingers and faces for entirely different purposes, with the sensible precaution of a dozen extra-thick condoms.

 


	20. Castle

 

Bucky awoke with a start. The positioning of his body seemed familiar enough. Steve nestled against his chest felt almost a natural as Steve playing little spoon and facing away from him. But this time it was different. This time Bucky wasn’t just as close as he could be to his boyfriend; this time he was actually inside his boyfriend, still knotted together after their third session of love-making that night.

He sighed in perfect contentment, gazing adoringly at his sleeping sunshine boy, Steve’s pink eyelids and long blond lashes drawn down like the awning of a fancy shop in midsummer Brooklyn, his cheeks puffing out a little as he slept, a thin line of saliva drying on his cheek. He was the perfect combination of human and divine, an angel in his arms, and Bucky’s heart swelled with pride to know Steve had trusted him, and him alone in this profound intimacy. It proved, if further proof was ever needed, that he was making the right decision. The sides of the four-poster neatly boxed in the heavy sickly-sweet miasma of spent heat and Alpha mating as the two of them lay crusted together in the stickiness of their love-making. Bucky never wanted this to end, but weekends – like lives – were short. Beyond that sunshine-blond hair, ruffled into peaks from his constant kneading, Bucky could see a bright sliver of daylight peeping through hastily-pulled curtains.

Steve’s breathing pattern changed. Bucky’s attention focused back to see his shaded lids open.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

Steve looked up, his lips forming into a lazy smile. “Good morning yourself, mister.”

“You sleep well?”

“The best”, Steve grinned wider. “I was about to say something sarcastic about you barely giving me any time to sleep, but…I don’t think I have the energy for word-play this morning.”

“Nope, we were playing a very different game last night.”

“Oh. I see your wit hasn’t failed you, at least.”

“Dissapointed I’m not being sappy as usual?”

“Not really”, said Steve. “I just supposed you’d be in the mood for rattling off a litany of earnest vows on your undying fidelity or something.”

“Damn it, you’ve stolen my thunder!” exclaimed Bucky in mock offence.

Steve yawned and stretched a little in his arms. Bucky could feel the sharp encrustation of Steve’s dried slick shifting uncomfortably between them. He was pretty sure it was going to sting like hell when they finally separated.

“No, I’m not going to steal your thunder, honey.”  Steve murmured. “If you want to say nice things, then now’s the time. I’m all out of wisecracks.”

“I’m gonna say nice things to you all day, don’t you worry about that. But for now, what I wanna say most is “thank you”.”

“For what?”

“For trusting me. When you were scared in the bathtub, you trusted me to say how you felt.”

“I could say the same for you, honey. You did as I asked, even though it must have been agony for you to resist the urges you felt. When you promised me the choice was mine, those weren’t just empty words. I trust you, Bucky. I trust you with everything.”

Bucky’s heart skipped a beat to hear such a level of benediction addressed to him. His Alpha instincts positively purred.

“I won’t pretend it wasn’t difficult. I didn’t know what to say when you asked about birth control. I gotta be honest, sweetheart, I’d never been put in that position before.”

“But you must have been, when you were with other…”

Bucky laid a finger gently on Steve’s sweet red lips. “What others, baby? You’re my first.”

The shocked look on Steve’s face was so precious, Bucky almost wished he’d been an artist so he could have captured it.

“You…were a virgin?”

Bucky nodded gravely. “Is…that bad?”

“No…no of course not”, Steve protested. “I just thought, you know, with all that charm and self-confidence you have, that…”

“I only have those for you, Stevie,” Bucky cut in. “You sing your sunshine song, and I spin my charm, but your song’s just for me, and my charm’s just for you.”

Steve grinned. “And I am charmed. I’m charmed that you told me. It feels so special that we were the first for each other. Now I can understand why you were so awkward in the bathtub. I’m sorry I put you through all of that.”

“Well I can think of a way you can make up for it”, he grinned back .“Do you think we could we try the bathtub again, sweetheart?”

“I’m not entirely sure I have the energy”, quipped Steve.

“Not for that. It’s just, I’m thinking we need to wash away all of this stickiness, and it’ll hurt if we try and separate. Far more pleasant if we bathe together.”

“But how do we get to the bathroom without separating?”

“Oh ye of little faith”, chuckled Bucky.

He carefully slid Steve to the edge of the bed, and with effortless Alpha strength, lifted his still impaled boyfriend into his arms, preserving their unbroken embrace. He walked them both into the bathroom, stooped a little to run the water to a comfortable temperature, and then lowered them both in as if the entire process was perfectly natural to him.

“Hmmmm, I could get used to this” Steve murmured as the warm water lapped around their bodies.

“So could I. Too bad we’ll soon be back to boiling kettles to fill the tub at Vyner Street.”

“Showers at Topcliffe might be more fun from now on though”, grinned Steve.

“I’m not putting you through a communal shower experience”, Bucky muttered. “You’re mine, baby, no-one elses…that is…” his proud expression humbled a little “…that is, if you still want to be mine?”

“Why wouldn’t I want that? We’re boyfriends aren’t we?”

“Yes, but…” Bucky looked down shamefaced as he ran his washcloth over their thighs “…this is a different phase in our relationship. And every time things change, the choice to keep going is yours. If you don’t want me to be possessive with you over sex, then you can just say…”

“Buck,” Steve interrupted sharply, placing his index finger on his boyfriend’s chin, and tilting it upwards. “Look at me.”

Bucky’s stared up into Steve’s baby blues.

“I love you. I want you to be my Alpha, okay? Someday soon, when you feel ready, I’d like you to give me your mating bite.”

“Now; today if I could.”

Steve picked up the hesitancy on his last word.

“But?”

“Mating bites only happen during an Alpha rut, and there’s no way of predicting when one might develop. But one thing I do know, is that ruts never happen until the Alpha and Omega are both totally at ease with each other, and I can’t fully rest until I know that I’ve done this properly. I need our folk’s consent, and there’s a few other things I need to put in place too.”

Steve swallowed shakily. “You think your folks would want someone like me marrying their son?”

Bucky gave Steve a stern look. “Baby, you really gotta stop this self-doubt. You’re my most special sunshine boy in the whole world. My folks are gonna love you. It’s just the way Alphas do things. My dad would be real disappointed if I didn’t ask him and your folks properly first. It’s the respectable thing to do, and you’re so precious to me, that I want the very best for you.”

Steve beamed a sunshine smile right back up at him, as the last of the stickiness dissolved and their bodies gently separated. Bucky’s length gently slipped out of Steve’s deep velvet passage. Steve pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek and murmured in his ear “I don’t have my watch on right now, but I’d say that took you about ten minutes.”

“Huh?”

“The time it took before you started up with those earnest vows, sweet-cheeks”, Steve tittered.

“Oh you think you’re so funny, Rogers”, Bucky groaned, swatting Steve’s backside playfully with the washcloth.

 

-*-

 

By the time Bucky had torn himself away from Steve’s fervent kisses for long enough to change the sheets and air out the bedroom, it was practically mid-morning.

Depositing the key back at the reception desk, Bucky went in search of breakfast only to find a deserted dining room filled with empty bowls and cleared plates.

He turned back as the clicks of leg braces grew closer, and Steve grasped his hand.

“I think perhaps we’re a bit late, Stevie.”

“It’s okay. It’ll soon be lunchtime anyway.”

“Yes, but where are we going to get our lunch from?”

“You boys having some difficulties?”

Bucky turned to the kitchen entrance to see a willowy young waitress smiling back at them, her long chestnut hair tied into a bun.

“I’m sorry ma’am, my boyfriend and I were just staying over for the night and we kinda overslept.”

The waitress subtly scented the air. “I can imagine” she smiled, knowingly. “I’m guessing you’re quite hungry after your exertions.”

Steve flushed and pawed the ground with his foot.

“You could say that, Miss…”

“Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff” she confirmed.

“That’s a Russian name”, smiled Steve shyly. “You didn’t happen to know a gentleman by the name of Dmitri Romanov?”

“Not personally, but that name sounds familiar. It’s possible my late brother Pietro might have known him. He was on the Russian convoys, but he never came back.” she concluded, sadly.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. My Uncle Dmitri never returned either.”

Wanda frowned. “It’s hard on everyone, I know, but it’s the personal loss that hurts the most. I loved my brother so much. We used to laugh and play…and sing together.”

“Sing?”

She nodded. “We used to have fun singing the old show and movie tunes from our childhoods.”

Steve broke into a sunshine smile that lit up the room as he eyed up the richly carved Victorian grand piano patiently waiting in the bay window.

“Would you like to sing with me?” asked Steve.

“I don’t follow?”

Five minutes later, Steve and Wanda were belting out duets together as his fingers danced across the fine ivory keys of the hotel Steinway.

“That’s the most fun I’ve had in months”, laughed Wanda, as they came to the end of another song.

He glanced over at Bucky, who was sitting at one of the tables clapping riotously.

“Honey, I know it’s our tune, but would you permit, please?”

“Of course, Stevie. I’d love to hear our song on a really posh piano.”

Here’s a little song I think you might remember from the late twenties, he announced, launching into the melody:

_“When I pretend I'm gay_

_I never feel that way_

_I'm only painting the clouds with sunshine_

_When I hold back a tear_

_To make a smile appear_

_I'm only painting the clouds with sunshine_

_Painting the blues, beautiful hues_

_Coloured with gold and old rose_

_Playing the clown, trying to drown all of my woes_

_Though things may not look bright_

_They'll all turn out all right_

_If I keep painting the clouds with sunshine.”_

 

“Well, you’ve certainly painted my clouds with sunshine, Steve” Wanda smiled gratefully.

“It’s been my pleasure.”

“Listen, where are you boys heading next?”

“Well”, confessed Bucky, “I was planning on finding somewhere I could get the makings of a picnic and taking a Hackie…”

“He means taxi”,  corrected Steve.

Bucky laughed. “Okay, okay…taxi…somewhere real special for my boyfriend.”

“No need to go hunting for your picnic”, said Wanda brightly “Let me see what I can conjure up. You boys wait right here.”

Once she’d bustled out into the kitchens, Bucky planted a soft kiss on Steve’s lips.

“What’s that for, honey?”

“For being such a ray of sunshine”, he sighed.

“You like the way our tune sounds on this gorgeous grand piano?”

“Meh”, Bucky shrugged. “The battered old pub piano sounds just as good to me. It’s your beautiful golden voice that makes the song special.”

“Oh really? So, you wouldn’t object to hearing it again?”

Bucky beamed and Steve started playing again, an encore of their special song on the grandest piano in all of Scarborough. By the time Bucky’s applause had died down, Wanda reappeared with an armful of paper bags, which she carefully slipped into their wicker basket as they broke away from a tender kiss.

“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering you a taxi”, she said. “It should be outside in a few minutes. I didn’t know where you wanted to go so I told them you’d give the driver instructions when they arrived.”

“That’s good of you, Wanda” said Bucky “You’ve been so kind to us”

“Well…” she shrugged “…Don’t get me wrong, those Royal Air Force boys are nice and all, but you two are something very special, and you’ve brought a little bit of my brother back to me this morning. Thank you so much, Steve.”

“It’s my pleasure, Miss”, Steve said politely, planting a kiss on her hand.

Bucky arched an eyebrow.

“Jealous?”

“Maybe just a touch” he chuckled.

“You two have a lovely day” she called after them, as Bucky whisked his boyfriend and the basket into his arms and bore them out of the lobby and down the hotel steps.

 

-*-

 

As the two of them bickered about who was paying the fare (Steve won), the taxi slowly drew up to a makeshift gate in the hastily erected chain-link fence at the top of the hill.

“I’m afraid I can’t take you any further, guv’.”

“This is exactly where we needed to go”, said Bucky “Thank you.”

Whilst Steve was paying, Bucky sidled over to the guard at the gate and broke into the widest toothy grin possible.

“By the uniform and the look on that mug, I’m guessing you’re the yank that rang ahead?”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“You got that permission slip with you?”

Bucky handed it over. The guard gave it a cursory glance.

“That’s fine. You can access anywhere on the site apart from that low concrete bunker just inland and to your left. Oh, and er…” his gruff demeanor softened momentarily, as he unlocked the gate “I hope it all goes well, mate. Good luck to you.”

“Where are we going, Buck?”

Bucky guided Steve through the gate as the guard locked up and resumed his patrol.

“Just over there”, he pointed.

Steve looked up and took a sharp gasp of excitement as the romantic of the 12th century castle hove into view at the crown of the hill.

 

Scarborough castle.

“Thought you might like to see it up close, Stevie.”

Steve practically skipped his way over to the ancient walls, his leg braces clanking together merrily as they went.

“You sound like a knight in full armour”, Bucky laughed.

“Oh, but you’re my knight in shining armour, Bucky” swooned Steve melodramatically.

“I think I prefer your sarcasm.”

“Who said I wasn’t being sarcastic, Sir Alpha?”

Bucky groaned and laid out the tablecloth, as Steve let out a fruity cackle.

“So, why all the security?”

“I guess the army’s using this site for something or other. I didn’t want to ask more in case they refused to let us in, especially since I’m in the company an intrepid newspaper reporter!”

“When national security’s at stake, I’m as silent as a mouse near Spitfire”, Steve quipped. “Besides, if it’s not in York, then it’s not news.”

Bucky secretly hoped this castle would be the scene of something newsworthy in York very soon.

“At least we get the place to ourselves”, Steve said, looking over the ruin with undisguised fascination. “But could you help me to sit on the tablecloth with you?”

“You sure? You could always sit on that wall.”

“I don’t want to damage it. Besides, I’m hungrier than I thought. I really want to be closer to all this food!”

“So, last night gave you an appetite, did it?”

“As well as satisfying one”, blushed Steve.

“Well, if it encourages you to eat more, I think we should do it more often”, Bucky smirked.

Steve frowned and shook his head in mock disapproval; the effect spoiled a moment later by the sandwich sticking out of his face.

“Yup, I’d say my sunshine boy is hungry. What’s in these sandwiches anyhow?”

“Bully beef and mustard”, mumbled Steve with his mouth full.

“Huh?”

“Surely you have Bully beef in America?”

Bucky tentatively lifted the corner of his sandwich

“Oh, Corned beef. Yeah sure, we have that. Funny name you give it.”

“I think it’s what the Tommies in the Great War used to call it. It sort of stuck.”

Bucky sighed. “Everything in this country comes from another era. Take this castle for a start. If these walls could only talk…”

“They’d tell you not to sit on ‘em”, said Steve, reaching for another Bully beef sandwich “But that’s the difference between our two countries. In America, 100 years is a long time; In England 100 miles is a long way.”

Bucky chuckled, then made a face as he bit into his sandwich.

“Something wrong?”

“No, nothing. It’s just that this mustard is…very hot”

“Yeah Wanda was a bit liberal with it. You have mustard in New York though, with your erm…hot dogs?”

“Not mustard like this.”

“Oh well” Steve smirked “For once, something in England is stronger than something in America.”

“Not stronger”, Bucky pointed out, “Hotter.”

“Same difference surely?”, Steve shrugged.

“Oh no, there can be a world of difference between strong and hot. I might be stronger than you, sweetheart. But you’re sure hotter than me.”

“There you go again with the charm”, Steve lamented dramatically. “When will it end?”

“Never. Even when we’re old and gray and you’re dandling great grandkids on your knee.”

Bucky swallowed. He didn’t mean to be so bold. His hint was even stronger than the mustard.

Steve smiled up at him, resting a hand on his forearm. “Okay”, he said gently “I might get used to that arrangement.”

“Really?”

“Really and truly, Bucky Barnes.”

“This is the time I really wish you were sitting on that damn wall”, he mumbled.

Steve sighed “Okay, okay. If you’ve got a good reason for me to sit on that wall, I’m sure my ancestors won’t mind my backside resting there for a while.”

Bucky nodded, getting to his feet, gently scooping his boyfriend up and settling him down on the lowest wall of the ruin.

“Comfy?”

“As anyone can be sitting on a wall”, Steve shrugged, “But now you’ve got me here, do you mind me asking what all this is about?”

Bucky hunted about in the wicker basket for a few moments, and then - with great theatricality - fell to one knee.

“Steven Grant Rogers, will you marry me?”

Bucky opened the little purple velvet box in his grasp; a plain gold ring glinted in the midday sunlight.

“B…but you said you had to talk to your folks?”, Steve stuttered.

“I…might have stretched the truth a little bit there.” Bucky explained “Actually, I already talked it over with my folks. They were the ones who sent me the ring over. This isn’t the only country with a bit of history. It was my Great Grandfather Omega’s engagement ring.”

“You’ve had Omegas in your family before?”

Bucky nodded reassuringly.

“And they’re…I mean, your parents…they’re…really okay with my disabilities too?” Steve asked, fearfully.

“Baby, they’re as crazy about you as I am. Your mum and your Auntie Nat know too of course, but in truth I wasn’t planning on giving you my bite until we trust each other enough to go into rut. That’s the proper thing to do and I’m…well…I’m kinda traditional like that”, Bucky blushed. “Besides, the engagement ring’s more than enough proof that we’re together…if…” he continued cagily, noticing storm clouds gathering on Steve’s face “…If you actually want to be my fiancé, that is. It’s still your choice after all.”

“James Buchanan Barnes, You’re an old-fashioned fool overflowing with sentimental twaddle! Pick yourself up off the floor this very instant”, Steve ordered, before adding, with a smile “…And put that ring on my finger.”

“Then you…”

“I love you, Bucky. I’ve felt something very special about you from the moment I met you. You’re the only man for me, and no-one else. I can’t think of anything I want more in life than to be married to you.”

“Now who’s spouting sentimental twaddle?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Then so is my own twaddle”, Bucky insisted.

“Yours is truth mixed with charm, honey. You make me feel so safe and loved. I really don’t know how you do it.”

“Neither do I. There’s not an ounce of charm in my body unless you’re with me.”

“Then we’re evenly matched. Because there’s not a tune to my life unless you’re with me. You’re my inspiration, Bucky. You’re the song in my sunshine.”

Bucky pulled his fiancé into a passionate embrace, carding a hand through his golden hair.

“There won’t be any more clouds left for us to paint baby, I promise you. Your sunshine’s all I need to make me happy for the rest of my days”, Bucky murmured.

Steve smiled up at him fondly.

“You know what would make me happy now, Bucky?”

“What?”

“Another slice of my Birthday cake”, said Steve. “If there’s any left that is? I’m absolutely starving!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scarborough castle did indeed have a secret army listening post attached to it during the Second World War. Situated high on the cliff edge facing continental Europe, its position couldn't have been better for such clandestine activities.
> 
> ADVANCED WARNING: Please note, the next chapter will contain more than its fair share of angst. To spare the details of the plot, I can't go into any details, but I wanted readers to be well aware of this beforehand.


	21. Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As previously mentioned, the angst is strong with this one. You have been warned!
> 
> This harrowing chapter concludes the first part of our story. There will be a pause for breath for a week, before the next section starts.

 

"‘Lady Luck’, you are cleared for take-off.”

Clint rolled his eyes at the order from the newly-built control tower. “Ugh! I don’t think I’ll ever get used to hearing some disembodied voice granting me ‘permission’ to do anything”, he grumbled.

“Goes against your Alpha instincts, huh?”

“Somethin’ like that. It’s bad enough still havin’ you nursemaidin’ me, Buck.”

Bucky cast Clint a look of mock hurt. “Awww. Is that any kinda way to talk about me on our final flight together?”

“It’s not just you I’m gonna see less of, you stinky old Alpha, my old girl’s retiring tonight too”. Clint laid his hands reverently over ‘Lady Luck’s’ main instrument panel.

“Bet you’ll miss her a lot more than me”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that. You’ve both saved my life plenty of times up in the clouds.”

“We’re just trying and paint ‘em with sunshine for you, buddy.”

“You and your fiancés song again? change the goddamn broken record”, Clint laughed.

“Never! That’s our song.”

“Then sing it to each other, ya lovesick mook.”

Bucky gave an innocent pout as Clint pulled back on his stick and the big old Halifax rose majestically into the air one final time.

 

A Halifax bomber flying high above the English countryside.

 

“I don’t care how much extra horsepower those Lancasters have in their engines, they’ll never sound like my ‘Lady Luck’ on take-off,” said Clint proudly.

“I’d never separate a madman from his delusions, but Lancaster engines have twice the thrust and nearly double the range.”

“Don’t listen to him, sweetheart” Clint cooed to his instrument panel “He’s just fixated by the schematics. Those giant lumbering hulks won’t stay together like you do in the flak.”

“Well, you may be right there,” agreed Bucky “You can’t beat a Halifax for strength and manoeuvrability, but ultimately that’s not what counts. Wars are won on range and payload.”

“Philistine”, sniffed Clint. “I bet you don’t talk to your Steve like that?”

Bucky sighed. “In truth I’ve barely had the chance to talk to him at all recently. This place is taking up way too much of my time. Compare that to the month after we got back from Scarborough,” Bucky continued, wistfully “We spent so much time together back then, we were practically on honeymoon.”

“Tell me about it,” sniggered Clint “When we were finishing digging the vegetable patch, you had one eye on the spade and the other on your Omega boy’s ass. Not that I blame you of course, it IS an amazing ass.”

Bucky elbowed him in the ribs, causing ‘Lady Luck’ to sway a little on her ascent.

“Everything okay sir?” one of the rookie gunners called out nervously.

“Yeah, yeah fine buddy. It’s just my second pilot being a little shit, as always.”

That drew a number of stifled sniggers from the rest of the crew.

“So, what’s been going on with you two recently then?”  asked Clint.

“Well, Topcliffe was meant to complete preparations before the new bombers arrived, but – as per usual – something got fouled up higher up the chain, and we’ve been rushing to complete for their delivery next week.”

“This part I know already”

“But did you also know that the specifications they’d sent Stark weren’t correct?” Bucky added. “I’ve been basing my pilot training on a prototype cockpit that’s undergone a dozen major revisions. Since I got the new one, I’ve spent every waking hour going over and over the design with the mechanics. It’s not right to leave Steve alone all evening while I do that, so he’s been going home after work. I’ve not been back to Vyner street in over three weeks. Sure, I can sneak a quick kiss with him during the day when he’s out of Stark’s office, but at night…”

“You don’t have to remind me, you randy bugger. Talk about stank, right crew?”

Bucky went deathly pale. Clint grinned at him wickedly as he held the flight mask away from his face. “Don’t panic, I wasn’t actively transmitting on this thing.”

“And you call ME a little shit!”

“Takes one to know one. Anyway, surely that jump seat next to me is getting uncomfortable for you by now?” Clint said pointedly “Isn’t it about time you took your proper place like a good second pilot and flight engineer?”

“And miss out on the scintillating pleasure of your company?”

“Steve’s right, your charm doesn’t work on anyone but him. Now get going ya crazy Yank!”

Bucky chuckled to himself and settled into the second pilot’s seat directly behind Clint. True, there was more padding, but it didn’t have the same view, not as if there was much of anything to see in the gradually descending twilight. Plus, although he loved to fly, knowing the intricate details of the Halifax made him a great flight engineer. He could feel the beating heart of Clint’s old girl, and it gave him a sense of pride to know the condition and service history of every nut and bolt, verified and re-verified with the mechanics he’d come to know and respect for their diligence and commitment. Beyond his regular duties, he’d also been given the special task of taking a photograph of the target during their bombing run, so he’d needed to go through all the technical details with them, as well as the complex arrangements for activating the shutter for a long exposure in practically zero light, high altitude conditions.

“So, any idea where we are in the order?” asked Bucky.

“Towards the front I think, assuming the other bombers set off on schedule. But it’s difficult to tell. One thing I do know, it’s gonna be one heck of a big one tonight.”

Bucky nodded. He’d been at the briefing. Tonight’s mission was a highly coordinated affair. About 700 planes were involved, but - unlike the American bombers with their tight daytime formations - Bucky’s Canadian crew flew alone into the unknown, a single lonely shadow cast against the darkening sky. As ‘Lady Luck’ broke through the lower atmosphere to gain their cruising height, Bucky noticed the unusually bright full moon cast the jagged shadow of their Halifax onto the clouds below.

This might have happened, albeit less obviously, every time they flew at night, Bucky really didn’t know. But he suddenly experienced a terrible flashback to a buried moment of childhood trauma. In his infancy, a relative had given him a macabre book of fairy stories as a gift. One particularly chilling tale said that - should the spectral angel of death cast a shadow over its innocent victims as twilight descended, then they would never wake to see another day dawn. Knowing that his bomber cast such a shadow in the night over innocent people sleeping in their homes stabbed viciously at Bucky’s Alpha conscience, and only reciting engineering statistics to himself as he checked the controls could distract him from his growing fear that one day, summoned by his bombing, the angel of death would follow Bucky back home, as it had done when York had burned in the air raid that had claimed the life of Steve’s friend Bill Milner.

After about twenty minutes distracting himself from those terrible imaginings with obsessive instrument checks, Clint’s voice brought him back to reality.

“So, everything’s good?”

Bucky swallowed hard and told a half-truth. “Very good. Those minor repairs to our third engine have done the trick. No vibrations at all.”

“I didn’t mean with my old girl, I mean with your ‘old girl’.”

That joking reference to his fiancé at least distracted Bucky “Hey, less of the old”, he said. “Steve’s a year younger than me. And anyway, like I told you, I’ve barely seen him, so I don’t know how he is. I’m assuming he’s okay, but neither of us is very happy being apart.”

“Couldn’t you at least have headed back to Vyner Street this weekend?” asked Clint

“I tried to get permission, but we ran into some subsidence on the south extension of the runway, so Stark asked me if I’d help with that”

“That’s a bit of a low blow.”

“No, not really”, reasoned Bucky. “I mean, he’s done nothing but fight my corner to keep me here, plus he pulled a lot of strings for my Scarborough trip. Steve understands, but ever since the heat I’ve been able to scent when things aren’t right with him. He’s missing me like crazy of course but there’s something else too. He’s been unusually nervous about something this past few days, I don’t know why. Maybe he caught wind of this mission.”

“Well he shouldn’t have. Stark’s maintained strict silence on it, as per protocol. Official Secrets Act or not, he knows better than to trust those details with any civilian, let alone one that’s engaged to a senior airman.”

“There are other ways of finding things out, as well you know, buddy.”

“People shouldn’t be gossiping over the dinner table”, muttered Clint grimly. “Careless talk costs lives”

“Or in this case, my fiancé’s piece of mind. You know, his mum gave me a piece of her mind when he came back with a ring on his finger.”

“Oh? I thought you told me she approved?”

“Sure, she did, but she was disappointed not to be there to see Steve face when I proposed.”

“You weren’t supposed to pack her in that wicker basket too, were you?”

“Oh, I don’t know”, said Bucky. “I think she was so happy she was just blurting out anything at that point. Steve said she’d have ruined the romantic moment if she’d been there, and I guess the truth hurt, so she trained her guns on me instead.”

“In-laws”, groaned Clint. “I’m so glad I don’t have to deal with that little problem.”

“You’ve never fancied matrimony yourself?”

“I prefer plants. They’re so much more predictable. Once they’ve fully grown, I’d prefer a deep meaningful relationship with one of those parsnips in your vegetable patch.”

“Now, there’s a spooky co-incidence,” said Bucky. “I know it’s months away but, since you’re the maker of the feast as it were, Sarah asked if you’d like to join us for Christmas dinner.”

“Oh, wow! I take back what I said about in-laws, Sarah gets my seal of approval if she’s planning on feeding me.”

“And I can be pretty sure my folks will send us a real Christmas cake so you’ll be able to sink your teeth something that’s beyond the restrictions in the ration book. That’s if Steve leaves us any. He’d gained quite an appetite lately”

“That’s good. Is his health still improving?”

Bucky made a face. “Not as much as I’d hoped, but, like Dr. Erskine said, there’s no cure, and there’s a limit to what Steve’s body can do. Steve’s a bit upset that he hasn’t developed any breast tissue. I explained that a lot of Omega boys never develop it anyway, and not to worry, but he had an appointment with Dr. Banner yesterday just to check with him. I wish I’d been able to tag along to show my support but I’ve just been so damned busy. I need to make a lot more time for him.”

“Well, once the runway extension is signed off at the end of next week, I’m pretty sure Stark will give us all a day or two off.”

“So you told me this morning, Clint, but I’m guessing you weren’t able to get him to confirm that, huh?”

“Oh, you know our doughty Squadron Leader. He’s so secretive I often wonder how anyone can…”

Clint’s words halted abruptly. A blinding flash hit the cockpit, accompanied by a deafening bang. Bucky screwed his eyes tight shut instinctively. Suddenly, he could feel a sharp pain in the back of his neck and the cold night air on his face. A moment later, a second bang knocked him into a stupefied daze. ‘Lady Luck’ began to spiral downwards out of control. Desperately, Bucky tried to blink himself back to reality.

“Clint?...CLINT!”

The bomber started to level out a little.

“What in the hell happened, buddy?”

When Bucky got no response, he squeezed out of the flight engineer’s seat and over to the pilot’s area of the cockpit. It was only when he got to his feet that he realised that his left arm was hanging numb and useless by his side.

Clint groaned in exertion, his arms desperately holding the stick right back, as if trying to get the Halifax to climb.

“She’s not responding properly”, Clint gasped. “Check the controls.”

Bucky headed back. “Shit, shit, shit!”, he shouted back to Clint. “We lost the port elevator!”

The elevators, attached to the tail of the Halifax, held the bomber straight and level. With one gone, the stability of the entire ‘plane depended on compensating with the stick.

Bucky spoke into his mask. “Navigator. Can you give me a position?”

“Fifteen miles over the Dutch coast” a shaky voice replied. “Bucky, we’re not doing so good here. My legs are in a pretty bad shape and I don’t see the tail gunner no more. I think he’s collapsed.”

“Just hold on guys. We’ll try and figure something out.”

Bucky turned back to Clint. “Flak?”

“Damned accurate flak if you ask me; windshield’s shot away, half these controls are useless and, without the elevator we’re…”

“I know, I know. First thing’s first. How are you?”

“Oh…mustn’t grumble.”

Clint’s Canadian upper lip was as stiff as any British one, if not stiffer. In truth, he looked like hell. Half of his guts were spilling out from his uniform and the outer edge his ear seemed to have gone absent without leave, leaving a trail of gore streaking down the right side of his face.

“Well one thing’s for sure, I can’t leave alone you to pilot 'Lady Luck' given the state you’re in”, said Bucky. “Can you shift to the jump seat for me?”

“Why does it have to be me that moves over?

“No offence, buddy, but you’re in worse shape than I am. Someone’s gotta be at the controls.”

“You’re not exactly an oil painting yourself”, Clint grumbled, but he didn’t protest any further. Slowly, painfully, Bucky helped guide Clint over to the left-hand seat.

“Now your job is to hold on to that stick with hold hands and not let go no matter what happens. You got me, buddy?”

“I’m injured”, hissed Clint tetchily. “Not stupid.”

“Good. Because I need your wits to help me work out what to do next?”

“Well, for a start, how’s my old girl doing?”

“It’s hard to be sure”, Bucky admitted. “Like you say, our instrument panels ain’t exactly telling us everything. We know what we’ve lost and you can bet there are some holes in the fuselage that weren’t exactly designed to be there. But the important thing is that all four of her engines are healthy.”

Clint exhaled a grateful sigh. “Then we don’t need to turn back immediately. If we’d had engine problems, we wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

Bucky thought for a few moments to weight up the options. “We keep going, then”, he concluded.

“You sure?”

“We’re gonna have to. If we turn back now, then we’ll be heading direct into the flight path of the hundreds of bombers following us, 10 miles broad and about 6,000 feet deep. Even if we pulled a 90 degree turn away from them, we’d still cut across a fair number. The risk is just too great.”

“But if we press ahead…”

“If we press ahead, then there’s a chance we won’t make it, sure. But we’ve got to try; we’ve got to trust to your ‘Lady Luck’ that she’ll pull us through. Her heart’s still as strong as ever”.

“God bless the Halifax”, murmured Clint.

“Navigator? Are your instruments still working?”

“Yes sir, I know exactly where we are.”

“And we’re still on course?”

“Pretty much.”

“Bomb aimer, are you still with us?”

“Sure, everything’s working fine and I’ve not come here for the view”, came the voice of an enthusiastic rookie.

Bucky smiled to himself. He could capitalise on this.

“Okay guys. We’re carrying on with this mission. We’ll be over the target in less than an hour, so stay focused. I’ll keep checking in with you.”

“I notice how you didn’t tell them the state the two of us were in”, chuckled Clint.

“No need for that. If they thought we were both going to ‘pop off’, we might have a mutiny on our hands.”

I bet that isn’t in any training manual.”

“We both know that half of what you learn in the sky is unprintable!”

Clint’s laughter triggered a cry of pain.

“You want something for that? We’ve got a first aid kit behind the seat”

“Not right now, the shock’s still keeping the worst of it off. Besides, if I’m drugged up on morphine, I’ll not be able to think straight.”

“I told you, your only job is help me to hold onto this stick.”

“And if you ‘pop off’, I’ll need a working brain if I’m going to take charge.”

“I’m not going anywhere”, Bucky replied. “We have a mission to fly.”

“You and your damned missions”, murmured Clint, a faint trace of bitterness lingering in his voice.

“No”, Bucky said pointedly “This mission isn’t about hitting the target. It’s about hitting the target so we can get everyone back home again.”

His voice was strong; decisive; the essence of pure Alpha. In truth, Bucky didn’t know how badly injured he was, and he’d no intention of finding out and scaring himself. He reasoned he’d no time for scary story book imaginings either.

Instead, he thought back to Steve’s words. No matter what the actual mission objectives, his true mission was to protect the crew, and continuing that greater mission seemed the best way of doing that.

Normally, the two of them would have slipped into companionable silence, but Bucky was conscious that he needed Clint to keep awake, focused and distracted from his pain.

“So, what are you most looking forward to with your Christmas dinner?”

Clint flashed him a wry smile. He knew what his buddy was doing, but he was content enough to play along.

“There’s no point in either of us having false expectations, Buck. I doubt Steve or his mum will have seen a sweet potato or a corn cob in their whole lives, let alone know how to cook them. And you can forget about the cranberries.”

“That’s a shame. I really like cranberry sauce.”

Clint grinned. “Yup, there’s lots of interesting things you could do with cranberry sauce. You could lick it off…”

“Clint Barton, you’re supposed to be the upright one and I’m supposed to be the sleazy one.”

“And on which stone tablet is that chiselled? I was the one that made up your ‘married quarters’ in that hut, wasn’t I?”

“With the romantic addition of a floral chamber pot under the bed.”

“Would you have preferred to crap out of the window?”

Bucky shrugged. “Point taken.”

“You’re confusing me with your upright very proper English fiancé”, said Clint “Compared to him, you’re debauched; that much is true, but then your Stevie’s as pure as the driven…

…Slush”, Bucky chimed in.

Clint shook his head.

“Bucky?” came a voice in his earpiece.

He pulled the mask to his face. “Yes, navigator?”

“We’re getting very close our target”

“Oh my”, gasped Clint melodramatically. “Time flies when you’re having fun”

“I need to check the camera. Will you be okay holding this for about a minute?”

“I can manage for an hour if that’s what you want”, he blustered.

“60 seconds will be more than enough.”

Bucky waited until Clint got the feel of the weight and checked the controls.

“Yup. Looks like the connections are still working. I can operate it from your position.”

“Thank goodness” gasped Clint “I’m not sure I have the strength I was born with.”

“Here let me”, said Bucky, clambering back into the pilot’s seat

“Open bomb bay doors.”

“Bomb bay doors open,” came the reply.

“Bomb aimer, let me know when to release.”

“Yes sir”, rang the voice of the enthusiastic young man.

“You have any spare tranquilisers in the first aid kit”, drawled Clint.

“I thought you said you needed to stay awake, buddy.”

“Not for me; for that kid,” Clint chuckled.

After a few more seconds, the Rookie called out “We’re now on target!”

“Bombs away”, Bucky ordered.

Lacking the precision of working controls to tightly circle the aircraft, Bucky activated the camera while they were flying straight and level, and then gently panned around to follow the recommended return trajectory.

“Okay crew”, he announced. “You’ll be happy to know that, from this point on, we’re headed for home.”

He heard the faint shaky cheer from his crewmembers and sighed.

“So far so good. ‘Lady Luck’, don’t fail us now”, Bucky murmured.

“She won’t”, smiled Clint. “You told me that on our first training run together. She might not have the range or the payload of those posh new Lancasters or your big brash American ‘planes, but she’ll get us there and back in one piece no matter what.”

Bucky wasn’t worried about the Halifax any more. Assuming they weren’t hit again, the old girl would keep them safe, but could he? He could feel the dryness in his throat, the dizziness from blood-loss. In addition to the limp arm, he’d become more aware of the searing pain in the back of his neck. He was pretty sure that something sharp was jammed tight in there, and doubly sure he’d lose even more blood if he tried pulling it out. Given all that, he thought it best not to look at himself, but he couldn’t help but look at Clint.

“You think you can hang on for me, buddy?” he asked.

“Hey, you try stopping me.” Clint’s voice was little more than a whisper. A few moments later, his fears were eclipsed by the sound of flak. He shot Clint a fearful look.

“Just keep her straight and level”, Clint drawled. “They don’t know what they’re shootin’ at. They just got lucky the first-time round. Besides, this old girl’s not up for any of yer fancy Yankee flyin’ circus tricks.”

Bucky chuckled and kept going. He knew they’d get shot at in both directions, and it was heartening to know the flak meant they were on their way home. Plus, Clint’s levity took his mind off the rest of his worries.

Clipping the flight mask back over his mouth, Bucky asked “Navigator, is that the Dutch coast we’re overflying?”

 

Silence.

 

“Navigator?”

 

He turned to Clint. “How do we get home now?”

“Well, you know the general direction like the back of your hand. When we get closer, I suggest you try signalling that control tower we’ve spent the past four weeks building.”

Bucky furrowed his brow.

“Hell, the damn thing has to be good for something?” exclaimed Clint.

Bucky gulped. All night he’d been throwing those dice of chance. They hadn’t turned up snake-eyes yet. He could only hope and pray ‘Lady Luck’ continued to hold out.

 

-*-

 

Steve’s first reaction was one of shock, then fear, then finally great irritation. Whoever was intent on breaking down the front door would surely wake up all the neighbours. They’d never hear the end of this down Vyner Street.

He angrily pulled himself out of bed, immediately feeling queasy from the sudden movement, and began the laborious process of attaching his leg braces around the thick flannel pyjamas he always had to wear when he didn’t have the comfort of Bucky’s body heat to snuggle into.

Before he even had the chance to call out to his mum, the bedroom door creaked open, and the totally unexpected figure of Squadron Leader Stark loomed over him.

“Sir?”

“Mr. Rogers, can you please come with me immediately?”

 

-*-

 

“Tower, I’m sorry, can you say again? The direction finder’s not working.”

“Turn right zero six zero.”

“Zero six…”, Bucky murmured groggily.

“Oh, give it here”, grunted Clint, wrenching the controls to the right. The crippled Halifax lurched drunkenly through the sky.

“How are they doing?” demanded Stark, as he rushed back into the control room.

“Not well, sir”, said one of the operators, watching the faint radar blip “They’re all over the place.”

“They followed your instructions to lose altitude?”

“Yes, their altimeter’s working, but their direction finder doesn’t seem to be or…” the operator hesitated.

“Or?”, queried Stark.

“It’s most likely they’re losing their capacity to read the instrumentation,” the operator conceded “Barnes is becoming increasingly unresponsive and when Barton does have a lucid moment, he tends to make things a good deal worse. His last turn took them towards the North York Moors, which isn’t a good idea with their lower altitude. If they keep on this course for much longer, they’ll probably slam into the side of a mountain.”

The operator turned at the sound of a poorly suppressed gasp to see a frail blond-haired man wearing an inside-out dressing gown over flannel pyjamas, holding his hand up to his mouth.

“Okay, Mr. Rogers. Are you prepared to do what we discussed in the car?”

Steve nodded as Stark handed him the microphone. For a moment, he through back to his fiancés comment the last time he held a microphone. But just as with the railway, singing the ‘sunshine song’ right now would be neither the right time, nor the right place.

“Bucky? Honey?”

45 miles due north of him, Bucky’s eyes flew open. For a split second he thought he was dreaming, until he heard the voice repeat in his ear.

“Bucky?”

“Stevie?  My…my Stevie?”

“Yeah, it’s your Stevie. Listen, honey. I need you to turn your aeroplane South. Can you do that for me please?”

“I…I don’t know, Stevie. I don’t know which way is south anymore.”

Clint grunted awake to the voices in his earpiece “What’s that? Get out of the snug Barnes”, he rambled deliriously. “You’re gonna make a scene with that nice young man. What would your ma think?”

“Can you see out of the window, Buck?”

“Yeah, it’s startin’ to get light now, Baby,” murmured Bucky “You wanna come back to bed? God I miss you.”

Steve swallowed back his tears. “Honey, can you see water?”

“No…er…hang on…yeah actually, there’s a big river to our right.”

“To your right…”, echoed Steve as Stark wrestled gamely with an Ordnance Survey map.

“Okay, can you follow that please?” Steve asked, following Stark’s frantic hand gestures.

“Anything for you, sweetheart”

“He’s headed in the right direction” confirmed the operator. “15 miles. He needs to bear right.”

“Turn to the right now Bucky.”

Bucky fumbled one-handed with the stick, as Clint’s grip began to weaken. For a few moments ‘Lady Luck’ lurched downwards, then resumed its sluggish course.

“6 miles”, announced the operator. “But they’re losing altitude dangerously. Any lower and they’re not going to make it.”

“Honey, can you keep that stick up for me please?” begged Steve.

Bucky coughed harshly, tasting coopery blood and stomach acid. “I’m not sure. I only got one workin’ arm and Clint ain’t helpin’ me no more, baby. I’m sorry. I just…I just wanna go to sleep now.”

Steve swallowed thickly, coming to a momentous decision. “Bucky. I need you to listen to me now, and listen to me very VERY carefully.”

With a loud and clear voice that belied his own nerves, Steve continued “Bucky, I’m…I’m pregnant. I’m going to have a baby. It must have been that…that _bathtub incident_ in Scarborough.”

Steve blushed. He was, after all, surrounded by Stark and most of the senior officers at Topcliffe, but quite frankly he didn’t give a damn about what any of them thought about him right now.

“We’re gonna have a baby together, honey. You…you just can’t die. I’m scared. You know how dangerous pregnancy is for Omega boys. You can’t leave me now. You know I’ll die of grief, and our precious baby will be lost. I…I need my Alpha.  You have to come back to me. You need to stay awake and alert and pull that stick back just as far as you can okay?”

Bucky’s eyes glinted with unshed tears.

“Clint?”

“Whu?”

“My sunshine boy’s gonna have a baby!”

“Whoa, tha’s terrific. Congratulations buddy”, Clint slurred, instinctively reaching for the stick. Together Clint and Bucky wrestled it back. ‘Lady Luck’ rose another 50 feet to clear the rolling hills surrounding Topcliffe.

“Oh my…would you look at that, Clint? I can see the airfield!” exclaimed Bucky.

The battered Halifax slotted into position like an old horse heading back to the stables. Bucky diligently followed the tracks, pulling up on the unresponsive stick even harder as Clint’s grip began to slacken once more.

Steve stifled a gasp as he saw what was left of the badly damaged bomber limping lazily towards the runway. He grabbed the microphone. “You’re nearly there, honey. Keep going; just…just keep going for me.”

“Till the end of the line, sweetheart”, Bucky swore. “This is the happiest day of my life. I’m gonna…I’m gonna be a father.”

‘Lady Luck’s' descent looked like it would be a textbook touchdown; that was before she dropped heavily as Bucky’s strength finally gave way and he released the stick. The bomber’s tyres squealed piteously across the runway, but a few seconds later they buckled, her undercarriage scraping the concrete in a shower of sparks. Bucky immediately switched the engine off to keep the fire hazard down.

“Clint! Clint we made it! We’re home. We’re home safe!” Bucky shouted, tears of joy forming in his eyes.

With its port wing dragging along the runway, the crippled Halifax spun sideways onto the muddy grass, before slamming to a sudden halt.

“Clint?”

The lifeless body of Flight Lieutenant Clint Barton slid forward in the seat and spilled onto Bucky’s lap. Bucky might have come home safe, but there'd been a high price to pay. The angel of death had returned with him to claim the life of his best friend and comrade. The angel’s dark shadow seemed to cloud over Clint’s sightless eyes as they met with Bucky’s own horrified gaze.

The shock from that dreadful realisation winded the Alpha, but only for a moment. Bucky howled out a rough-edged cry of despair that reverberated inside the wreckage of ‘Lady Luck’s' cockpit, before unconsciousness...swallowed...him...up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although the story is fictional, this chapter is loosely based on the experiences of William Reid, a Second World War RAF Lancaster Bomber pilot who successfully landed his stricken aircraft after the port elevator was shot off by anti-aircraft flak on the way to a bombing sortie. As with our story, Reid was unable to turn back immediately because he would have cut across the bombers behind him, and had to complete his bomb run before turning back for home. He was awarded a Victoria Cross, the highest honour for Bravery in the British armed forces, for his actions. A brief biography of William Reid is available at: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Reid_(VC)


	22. Pie

 

Bucky’s first semi-conscious sensation was the pink glow of sunshine on his shuttered eyelids. The rest of his body felt numb and heavy like a ball of damp cotton wool. The air around him felt still and slightly stale. A sharp antiseptic odour stung his nostrils without the need for him to actively scent, but his breathing pattern must have changed because seconds later he heard a voice.

“Senior Airman Barnes?”

As his eyelids fluttered open, he saw the Royal Canadian Air Force doctor, Abraham Erskine standing vigil at the foot of his bed.

“Hey doc”, Bucky whispered, hoarsely. “Uhm…where am I?”

A smile played on the doctor’s lips. “Come now; surely you’re smart enough to figure that out all by yourself?”

“Oh…” Bucky frowned. “…the…hospital, I guess. But…but which hospital?”

“York. You’re…well, you’re home I guess; or as close to home as you’ll get in this country. Your injuries were severe. We didn’t really want to transport you further in case your condition worsened and this local hospital is…well… ‘adequate’ at a pinch.” His weathered features formed an expression of almost comical distaste.

“Severe injuries, huh? So, what’s the damage exactly?”

“Senior Airman…”

“Just call me Bucky, for cryin’ out loud!”

Dr. Erskine nodded. “Okay, Bucky. How do you want it?”

“Uhm…sorry, I don’t follow you?”

“I’m a military doctor. I can speak to you gently the way I spoke at Topcliffe to your boyfriend…”

“Fiancé”, Bucky corrected.

“Fiancé”, Dr. Erskine repeated. “Or I can speak to you candidly like a soldier. I make no value judgments; you’re free to choose how you want it, and I’ll respect your wishes.”

Bucky thought back to his hesitant conversations with Steve, about choices with courtship and children. He’d tried his best to give his Stevie those choices but….

…visions of the flight lurched unbidden into his head; the sheer exhilaration of knowing he’d become a father, and then Clint…the body of Clint sliding forward and slumping over onto his lap. The horror of seeing that hideous death mask staring up at him, the angel of death leering back at him. He’d failed his friend so badly. He’d not…

“Bucky?”

“Sorry. I…I was…I was thinking back…”

Dr. Erskine nodded his understanding. “That must be very disturbing for you, but I have to tell you it’s entirely normal under the circumstances.”

“Normal”, repeated Bucky. “What’s normal anymore, doc?”

The doctor sighed heavily and lowered himself into a bedside chair.

“So…you mind telling me what happened when we landed?” Bucky asked.

“You were there. I’m sure you know better than I do.”

“No, no…I mean after that.”

Dr. Erskine nodded. “I’m guessing you already know what happened to Flight Lieutenant Barton?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, but did I lose anyone else?”

“The tail gunner. Most of his gun emplacement had been shot away. They never did find his body.”

Bucky cast his mind back to Steve’s beloved Uncle Dmitri, lost at sea. This was the same deal, only it had been on his watch. It was his fault that that poor boy would never have a decent burial; that his family would suffer the tragedy of mourning without a grave.

“The navigator was in a bad way too; multiple leg fractures, some of them complex. He’ll probably be in traction for a couple of months. But the other three crewmen walked away with barely a scratch. Given the extent of the damage to your aircraft, it’s nothing short of a miracle that you brought any them of home safe.”

Home safe, his Alpha instinct; his personal mission to protect, to keep safe, to bring them home safe…but he didn’t bring everyone home safe.

“Your cockpit was badly smashed up”, Erskine continued. “Even with the windshield gone, we had to practically carve you out of there.”

The doctor paused and waited for his patient to respond.

“So…what about my injuries?” Bucky asked.

“You still haven’t given me your choice.”

“Choice? Oh…oh yeah. Look, I’m a soldier, doc. Just rip the bandage off. It’ll be a lot less painful in the end.”

“As you wish. Well, you picked up a pretty bad wound to the back of your neck from the debris of the cockpit canopy. It was a very fiddly operation to remove everything, but I must say the surgeons here have done an outstanding job. You’ll be left with a scar that’ll draw gasps, if you’re in the business of swapping war wounds...”

“You’re stalling here, doc”, Bucky cut in. “What about my arm?”

Dr. Erskine nodded in agreement. “Ah yes, I was coming to that. You had a ton of shrapnel embedded in your left shoulder. I’ve operated on similar military injuries before, so I volunteered to carry out that procedure myself. I‘d been concerned this hospital wouldn’t have the facilities to provide you with the best treatment but, as it turned out, that really didn’t matter. The shrapnel had cut right through the median and most of the ulna nerve. With better equipment, I might have been able to salvage the limb itself but honestly, if I’d gathered together the finest surgeons in London, Toronto and New York, even they’d have agreed with me that the nerve damage was completely irreparable.  You’d have been left with no sensation below the shoulder, so I really had no choice but to amputate.”

Bucky thought back to how his arm had felt after the flak hit; how it had just hung there, useless and heavy. If that’s what he’d have been left with, he’d have hated it. Even Steve’s legs, weak though they were, at least had some movement and sensation to them. At least Steve could feel Bucky’s kisses and caresses.

“Sometimes the severed nerves around amputated limbs might trigger sensations, usually of movement, temperature or pain. It’s an unfortunate and uncomfortable side effect, but I assure you the incidence of these will gradually lessen over time.”

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Dr. Erskine added “And uhm…just to be thorough, you also sustained a minor burn to your right index finger, probably the result of you flipping a switch with damaged wiring behind one of the control panels. Bearing in mind the extent of your other injuries, I doubt you’d even have felt that at the time. One of the nurses treated the burn and applied a very neat dressing. That should be healed up in less than a week. Oh, and by one of the nurses, I mean your boyf…I mean your fiancé’s mother.”

“Sarah’s seen me like this?”

The doctor hummed a confirmation. “She’s waiting outside, if you want to talk with her. You’re entirely within your rights to refuse her of course but…”

“No.”, Bucky interrupted “I’d…I’d really like to talk to her.”

“Very well, I’ll ask her to come in as I leave. For now, I think you’ve got all the information you need to be getting on with. You’ll most likely forget anything more. I’d imagine you’ll be in the hospital for quite a while, but to be honest that’s in the hands of the nursing staff, so your fiancé’s mother might well give you better advice than I can. I’ll go and speak to your Squadron Leader to update him, and I’ll be back to check on you later this evening.”

“Thanks doc.”

As Erskine headed out, Bucky took in a deep breath. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he trusted Nurse Roger’s judgement.

The smile on Sarah’s face was genuine and unstrained. The same sunshine smile as her son’s; the same golden hair really, tucked behind the nurse’s hat, albeit streaked with a few silver threads.

She raised one eyebrow “I’m not going to ask you how you feel, unless you want to tell…and if you do, you can be as honest to me as you want. And I really mean that.”

Bucky smiled the way he did in the presence of his own family back home. That was exactly what he needed to hear, rather than any fatuous “How are you?” comment.

“Numb”, he said. “Both physically and…well…everything else.”

“The physical part is analgesia. We’ll reduce the dosage gradually. At some point you’ll start to feel discomfort, but we’ll monitor that regularly so it’s managed in a way that’s most beneficial to your recovery. That’s a clinical euphemism for, it’s going to hurt like hell for a while but it’s for your own good, sonny!”

Bucky blurted out a sharp laugh.

“As for the rest, well losing a limb’s hardly news you can get used to in five minutes. If it’s any consolation, the symmetry of the human body does have its advantages. You’ve got two of everything for a reason. I’m not saying there won’t be times you want to punch someone or something with the sheer frustration of it all, but I’d advise you to avoid that if at all possible; you can’t risk losing the spare.”

“Well, you’re certainly a breath of fresh air, Sarah.”

“That’s a kindly way of putting it”, she said, smoothing out his pillow. “I’m not going to patronise you, Bucky. Your life’s going to be harder. I wish you didn’t have to go through all of this, and not just the physical things. I’m sure a lot of things hurt for you right now.”

“That’s true. I saw Clint…I…Oh…oh God what have I done?”

Sarah circled her arms into a gentle but firm embrace around Bucky as he wept his grief out over her shoulder. He should have felt ashamed to cry in front of his fiancé’s mother, but he couldn’t make himself care. He needed to get the tears out somehow.”

“I failed. As a man, as an Alpha. I…I didn’t protect them”, He mumbled into the folds of Sarah’s uniform.

Sarah listened, but didn’t challenge or comment. She just let Bucky feel the way he did in peace. Bucky needed that so badly, he felt like weeping afresh with the relief of her reassuring presence. 

A few minutes later, Bucky lowered himself back onto his pillow, his face streaked with tears.

“When the time comes, you can talk to me more about those feelings if you want to”, said Sarah, offering him a tissue. “But if you don’t feel comfortable talking to me, you can always talk to Steve. It won’t surprise you to hear that he’s been through a lot of the same feelings.”

“I can’t burden him with how I feel; not with a baby on the way.”

“You know as well as I do how strong he is.” Sarah reasoned. “He can take anything you throw at him, and he’ll thank you for it.”

Bucky couldn’t argue with that. “So, where is he now?”

“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel when you regained consciousness. You’ve got a lot to process. I’ve seen patients take very bad news as calm as a millpond on the first hearing, and then totally fall to pieces a little while later. Steve knows how bad those feelings can be and he’ll love you no matter what, but I didn’t want you to feel obligated or embarrassed in front of him. If he’d still been here in the hospital, I’d wouldn’t have been able to keep him away from you.”

“Wait a minute. Steve’s been here already?”

Sarah nodded. “He spent two days sleeping in the waiting room when they brought you in, bothering the doctors and nurses with incessant questions and making a proper nuisance of himself. This morning, when we were confident you’d regain consciousness, it took me and Squadron Leader Stark working together to drag him off to Topcliffe. He really dug his heels in. In the end, Stark picked Steve up in his very own car, so he couldn’t exactly refuse.”

Bucky chuckled. “That sounds like my Stevie.”

“I doubt he’ll get anything much achieved there today. He’s sick with worry, but you really do need your own space right now.”

“Well, he can get a touch overwhelming when he gets excited.”

“Especially with all those extra hormones whizzing about inside him”, Sarah added. “You need some time to yourself to process all of this before you calm him down. It isn’t every day you become a ‘Papa’, Bucky.”

For a few moments, Bucky didn’t grasp that particular reference. He was still getting used to the new reality Traditionally, the children of male/male couples learned to call their Omegas ‘Daddy’ and their Alphas ‘Papa’ to tell them apart. It was a sensible enough distinction, but rational thought wasn’t uppermost on Bucky’s mind. He’d always dreamed of being a ‘Papa’, but not like this. How was Steve going to cope raising his child now that Bucky was a cripple?

“How…is he? I mean…” Bucky pushed his own fears aside to ask about Steve, but struggled with his choice of words. “How’s… _that_ going?”

Sarah shrugged good-naturedly. “He’s fit and healthy, mostly down to you and Toplcliffe’s dining hall I have to say, but don’t expect to see any physical changes at this stage. It came as a complete shock to him earlier in the week when he visited Dr. Banner about breast tissue to be told he was going to need their contents a lot sooner than he’d thought, though…”, she sighed “…the doctor told him breast tissue growth was never really going to happen in his case. It’s a blessing in disguise really. He’s not strong enough to nurse so the absence of mammary glands won’t harm him. It’s not as if you can’t obtain formula milk for bottle-feeding, after all. It’s one of the very few products that’s never been restricted by the ration book.”

A surreal vision of his sunshine boy breastfeeding their new-born popped unbidden into Bucky’s head. Curiously, he felt he was watching the tender scene from the outside, as if he wasn’t part of the family at all. A chill raced up his spine. The angel of death he’d met in the heart of enemy territory each bombing night had claimed his buddy’s life and still hovered over his own. Right there and then, he came to the dreadful realisation that somewhere, in the wreckage of that crumpled Halifax, a part of his soul had been claimed by the hateful spectre, perhaps forever.

“What is it, Bucky?” Sarah’s face was a picture of concern.

“I…I don’t know”, he shuddered. “I think maybe I need to be alone for a little while.”

“I understand. There’s a lot to take in. At least you don’t have to think about the airfield. Squadron Leader Stark asked me to pass on the message that he’ll visit you soon and not to worry about a thing.”

Little did Sarah know that the airfield was just about all that Bucky could think about right now.

 

-*-

 

Still under the influence of the analgesia, and being naturally right-handed anyway, Bucky barely even noticed the loss of his left arm through the rest of the day. Occasionally a glass of water would arrive (he dismissed all offers of tea), but he picked the tumbler up with his right hand without even thinking about the process.

However, by early evening, two things had happened. Firstly, the analgesia had started to lighten, and a profound soreness settled onto his left side in general, and the shoulder in particular. And secondly, he’d been asked what he wanted for his dinner.

“I have a choice?” he’d said.

The young auxiliary nurse had stared at the floor and twisted a handkerchief between her hands bashfully.

“We’ve steak and kidney pie or cheese ploughman’s.”

Bucky didn’t much warm to the prospect of a cold meal, and he hadn’t realised just how hungry he was until then. “I’ll take the pie then, please.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Barnes”, she’d simpered. The faint scent of juvenile Beta sexual interest invaded his senses.

“Sorry darlin’”, Bucky explained. “I’m engaged to be married.”

That put her straight.

It was only later that he realised the terrible trap he’d just set for himself. The cheese platter would have been simple enough to manage with the one hand, but his hot meal would doubtless be presented, as all British meals were, with a full set of cutlery, and whilst it was probably acceptable for him to accord with the American tradition, and just eat with a fork, that depended on there being nothing to cut up. And British meat, on the rare occasions when it was forthcoming at the Roger’s household, had all the consistency (and taste) of sturdy boot leather.

Bucky’s mind instantly replayed the cosy bedroom image of Steve jamming his tiny pale feet into the boots attached to his leg braces, morphing nightmarishly into the mottled death mask of Clint’s face; his sightless eyes staring up to the heavens as he spilled onto Bucky’s lap.

He closed his eyes, willing the hateful image out of his head.

Bucky wasn’t sure how long he lay there trying to rid himself of the waking nighmare. He barely registered the unappealing aroma of overcooked vegetables, floury pastry and watery gravy. He didn’t feel particularly hungry anymore. That was, until the mundane school-dinner smell yielded to a much more compelling and welcome scent.

“Stevie?”

He’d barely time to utter the name, before a gentle kiss silenced him. The scent of his Omega flooded the room, curling around Bucky’s soul like a balm.

“Stevie” he breathed. “I love you so much, sweetheart, and I…”

Steve laid a finger against his lips and kissed again, this time more passionately, inviting Bucky to kiss back with similar fervour.

A warm sunshine glow wrapped around Bucky. This was just what he needed. No explanations, no pretty speeches, no half-baked pleasantries, just the presence of the one person he knew who loved and accepted him without the need for words. Besides, his fiancé’s eyes said everything he needed to hear.

Steve broke off, directing his attention to the plate on Bucky’s tray table. His first words were appropriately prosaic and undeniably British. “You know you’ll simply have to eat this thing, or at least part of it. Healing requires calories and there’s only one source in this hospital. If it gets cold, it’ll be inedible.”

Steve started to carve up the pie. Disinterring the meat from the pastry summoned up a fresh burst of malodorous distaste. “That pastry could stop artillery shells”, Steve muttered. “Some of the meat’s not too bad though. One little trick’s to layer up a bit of meat, potato and vegetable onto one fork, so you get a mixed bite of everything; that reduces the flavour to nothing.”

“You have a way of making it sound so appetising”, Bucky wisecracked, with a grim smile.

“And before you start protesting, yes I’m doing it for you and no, I’m not babying you because you’ll soon learn the skills to do it for yourself. But you can’t do that if your strength fails you. That means you chew and you swallow.” He handed the laden fork to Bucky.

“Sounds like a lot things we have to do”, Bucky mumbled, hoping the chewing would keep his mind away from those darker thoughts.

“You know it, and I know it.” Steve conceded, loading the fork up again “But the problem with life isn’t so much the chewing, or even the swallowing. It’s the chronic indigestion later that really doubles you up.”

Bucky nodded. It was like his fiancé could read his mind. The analogy was absolutely perfect. Those few hours of  battle in ‘Lady Luck’ were fuelled on raw adrenaline and Alpha instinct. It was the aftermath that burned like fire in his belly.

“So how do I get relief?”, Bucky asked, tentatively, eager to explore the analogy further.

Steve presented the fork to his mouth again. “You don’t. You can’t. Like all forms of pain, it subsides after a while; the relentless passage of time drowns it out with other priorities. But the pain can come out in other ways. You’ve got to be prepared for that.”

Bucky didn’t much like what he was hearing. But he was tired. Choosing to let the matter drop, he finally let out the sigh he didn’t know he’d been holding in.

“You know you can tell me anything you need to, honey. Your hell’s hotter than mine right now, but I’m used to the heat. I’ve got asbestos leg braces.”

Bucky snorted a laugh out at that at least.

“Well”, Steve conceded “You’ve managed a whole five forkfuls, which is five more than the Bucky Barnes I met 6 months ago would have managed. Well done for that. If you can reach the half dozen, you'll get a special present."

“Anythin’ for you, darlin’.”

The last forkful was an ordeal. Just as Steve predicted, the meat had grown tougher as if cooled and his jaw felt like it would dislocate from the chewing.

“My poor baby,” Steve pouted. Bucky nearly spat out the last of that mouthful at the absurdity of it, but he never gave up on a challenge.

“So, what’s my special present? Fish and chips tomorrow?”

“Hmmmm, that’s an intriguing possibility, but not what I had in mind for you right now. Let me get rid of this stinking tray of slop first.”

Bucky looked around at the crisp white linen sheets of the bed. For the first time, being entirely sat up for the meal, he glanced down at the dressed stump at his shoulder. The area throbbed mildly, but it wasn’t so much the pain as the shock of seeing it that he couldn’t quite get his head around.

When he looked back up, Steve was watching him with an enigmatic expression on his face.

“They’ve done a neat job with that.”

Bucky thought how clever Steve’s observation was. No value judgment. He was leaving Bucky to make his own. But Bucky wasn’t biting. He had to know where he stood.

“And what do you think of it? Besides how ‘tidy’ it is.”

Steve placed the cup and saucer he was holding on the tray table “Honestly? I think it’s a piece of your body. I never commented on it before when it was there, so why should I now that it’s not?”

“Because it means I can’t do as much…

…and that you’ll always be stared at, Steve completed with a lopsided grin. “Welcome to my world, honey.”

The realisation rushed up on Bucky like an icy blast of wind, taking his breath away. When it came to the physical side, perhaps even a fair proportion of the emotional side of this new and inescapable reality, his Stevie had years on him.

“Sorry”, said Steve quietly. “That was patronising of me. It’s not a laughing matter and I shouldn’t make light of it.”

“You’re not. It’s just …” Bucky hesitated “It’s just that I feel I’ve got so much to learn right now. I don’t mind admitting to you that all of this scares me.”

“I know”, whispered Steve. “But I can help; truly.”

Steve sat on the side of the bed and combed his hand through Bucky’s hair, careful to avoid the dressing at the nape of his neck. “I love you, Bucky Barnes, and I’m going to do everything I can to make you happy.”

“You make me happy just being here with me”, said Bucky “Just you and me and…”

“And are you happy about that too?” Steve interrupted in a serious tone, his pupils widening a little.

“What do you think? I’m crazy about you, Stevie. I want to be your baby’s ‘Papa’ so bad. I’m not sure how I’ll change a diaper with just one hand, but I’ve got months to practice”, he grinned “The question is, are YOU happy about it?”

Steve’s smile turned wistful. “There’s no-one else in this world I want to be with but you, honey. I know it’s a really big risk for Omega boys, but it’s also a miracle. Of course I want to have our baby.”

Bucky’s mind couldn’t fully grasp the implications of all these changes. He wanted to do things properly. He wanted to marry Steve, go into rut and give him the mating bite that would seal their hearts together for life, but he couldn’t just rush into it until he’d healed. Blunting his Alpha instincts with dull patience would be yet another challenge he’d have to face.

“Anyway, you need to drink this before It gets cold”, said Steve, interrupting his thoughts. He picked up the cup and saucer and offered it to Bucky.

“No thanks” he waved it away. “I’d prefer another glass of water to the hospital tea.”

“Who said anything about tea?” grinned Steve. “This is your special present!”

Bucky gave the proffered cup a suspicious sniff.

“Squadron Leader Stark didn’t ask me to do anything too involving today. My mind was on…other matters. He asked if there was anything he could do to cheer you up, and I think I know you well enough to…”

“Coffee?”

“It’s only the powdered variety, you understand”, Steve warned. “Stark asked around and one of your Canadian mechanic friends had a quarter of a jar of the precious stuff he let me have. That means, if I ration you to one of these every evening after what passes for a meal in here, you’ll have finished by the time you’re fit to be discharged.”

Bucky let the heavenly liquid trickle down his throat. If it had been served to him in a diner in Brooklyn, he’d have furiously demanded his money back. But in wartime York, it was the richest gift that glorious battered old city could bestow.

“Oh Stevie, this is so special.”

“Don’t be daft”, Steve teased, “I can scent your insincerity a mile off, but if you’re drinking it, then I’m happy.”

“You don’t fancy trying a little yourself?”

“And who said I didn’t?” he pulled a face. “I simply don’t know what you see in the stuff.”

“Well, this ain't real coffee, sweetheart. One day I’ll fix you up a proper cup of joe.”

“Along with the milkshake and the hot dog”, Steve smirked.

Bucky’s expression grew serious. “Stevie, one day I swear to you, you’ll see fireworks, eat hot dogs and drink milkshakes. You have my word on it.”

“Then you’d better hurry up and get better”, Steve whispered in his ear, sliding his hand under the bed sheets.

“Stevie! I’d never have thought a nice well-brought up English gentleman would have such dishonourable intentions.”

“My apologies, Alpha Bucky…do I have to wait for you to bite me?”

The prospect of a rut-triggered mating bite, twinned with Steve’s deliberately submissive tone and jaunty tilt of the neck to expose his scent gland sent Bucky’s hormones skyrocketing. The Alpha didn’t even try to disguise his arousal.

“Hmmm…thought so”, winked Steve. “I think it’s time I left you to get some rest.”

“You’re leaving me alone after that shameless flirting? You’re not going to share this hospital bed with me?”

“Certainly not. My mother would have a fit, breaking hospital rules like that.”

“Aren’t there any hospital rules stopping you from groping the patients?”

“Not when the perpetrator is engaged to the victim.”

“You just want me to be up all night, don’t you?”

“I didn’t realise coffee had such a dramatic effect on you”, Steve sniffed. “I’d better throw the rest of it away in that case.”

“Don’t you dare!” laughed Bucky, slightly nervously.

“Then it looks like I can tease you and blackmail you for quite some time, doesn’t it, honey?”

“You really are the worst, Steven Grant Rogers!”

Steve pulled a ‘butter wouldn’t melt’ expression and lingered with his parting kiss.

“Goodnight, Fiancé”, he whispered hoarsely.

As Bucky faced the night alone with his tortured thoughts, at least he knew that he could always rely on his Stevie to paint his clouds with sunshine.

 


	23. Key

 

“I’m afraid I’ve got rather some bad news, Squadron Leader.”

“Well, today’s the day for bad news”, Stark mumbled grimly. “Out with it, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve took a deep breath before conceding “The subsidence on the south runway has reopened again.”

“Bad?”

“Bad enough, sir. According to the engineers it’s being made worse because some parts of the land are falling as others are rising. That’s what breaks up the runway surface so quickly. The falling part is called subsidence, but the rising part is just as bad. Apparently, the technical term for the rising part is ‘heave’.”

“As in the feeling churning my guts right now”, grumbled Stark. “Just thinking about the expense of all this. I’m starting to believe we’d have been better off staying at Pocklington Airfield.”

“We had a choice sir?”

Stark shook his head. “No, not really. I obey orders the same as everybody else. It’s just the person barking commands at me has more egg on his hat, that’s all.”

“Do you think this problem with the runway will this hold up our new bombers sir?”

“No. That’s about the only good news I’ve heard all day. There’s been a delay on us receiving our Lancasters. Apparently, the Royal Air Force can’t get enough of them, so they’ve shifted us further back in the queue. It’s a mixed blessing in that it doesn’t look very impressive on my military record, but at least I don’t have to tell anyone about the runway situation; at least not yet. The runway can be fixed, right?”

“Apparently not, sir. The engineers recommend we extend the north side of the runway and abandon the south completely. It’s not a total loss. What remains may still be useful in an emergency situation.”

“But surely that’ll put our control tower out of position.”

Steve nodded.

“They’re not seriously suggesting we pull the blessed thing down and start all over again?”

“That’s about the size of it, sir.”

Stark groaned. “Very well. Tell them to put it in writing. If I’m going to have to make changes that drastic, then I’ll need a solid paper trail.”

“They’re terribly bad with a pen sir.”

That brought a snort of grim amusement from the Squadron Leader. “I thought as much. You okay putting it in writing for them, Mr. Rogers?”

“That’s what you have a secretary for, sir.” Steve’s smile was genuine, but muted. He was patiently waiting for his boss to talk about the matter they’d both been avoiding. Stark suddenly stopped pacing the office floorboards and sank back into his chair.

“Would you care to take a seat?”

Steve complied. Maybe he was getting somewhere after all.

“I like you, Mr. Rogers. You’re smart but not arrogant, and you get things done. In many ways you and Barnes are well suited.”

“Well, thank you, sir”

“Listen, I’ve erm…” Stark inched a finger around his collar, usually a sign that he was particularly nervous about something “…I went to see him yesterday afternoon for the mission debriefing.”

“Yes, I know sir”

“I promised you I’d give you access to the notes so you could type up your newspaper article about the crash, and I’ll hold to that promise, but it’s important I stress to you that it doesn’t make for particularly easy reading.”

“That’s why I didn’t wish to ask him the same questions a second time in a press capacity sir.”

“Yes”, Stark acknowledged. “That was a very wise and honourable decision of yours. The less he has to put it into words right now the better, though I get the feeling he’s replaying it over and over in his head anyhow.”

“It…isn’t getting any better, is it sir?”

“If anything, it’s getting worse. I appreciate he’s probably denying everything to you…”

“In words, sir”, Steve agreed. “But I can scent Alpha fear, and he can’t exactly disguise that. Problem is, the more he knows my concerns, the less he wants to tell me. He just keeps repeating that he doesn’t want to ‘bother’ me.”

“I know, I know. He tried the same tactic with me. Said he ‘didn’t want to make a fuss’. I had to politely point out to him that he was already making a fuss by having nightmares so bad the nurses needed to keep him in a private ward to protect the rest of the patients from his incessant screaming.”

“And he’s…still bedwetting sir?”

A curt nod confirmed that particularly embarrassing detail.

“Did the debriefing give you any clues as to the cause of all this, sir?”

“As I said, Mr. Rogers, you’re smart. You’ll probably learn more for yourself from reading my observations”, he handed Steve a small tan-leather notebook. “But, for what it’s worth, I think it’s got a lot to do with the relationship he had with Barton. They both had misgivings about some of the missions they had to fly, but their responses to that were very different. That flight was the last one where Barnes was acting as second pilot and unofficial supervisor to Barton, so you could say that Barton died on Barnes’ watch. You know your fiancés attitude to responsibility better than I do.”

“That’s a very important clue, sir. Thank you”

“Beyond that, he’s clearly frustrated by the situation with his left arm. He’s pressing for rehabilitation exercises so he can ‘make himself useful again’, in his words, but it’s far too soon for that. He’ll only reopen his wounds. Besides, I’m guessing you already know how rudimentary British artificial limbs are?”

“Little more than glorified mannequin props sir”, Steve confirmed.

“Quite.  When he learns the truth of their capabilities for himself, I fear we’ll have a whole new problem to deal with.”

“Touching on that, sir. What’s his position here?”

“Militarily, you mean? That’s very much a decision for Thurleigh, but then it always has been really. The Americans were content enough to leave it in my hands before, and whilst I’ll need to inform them of his physical condition, a touch of judicious editing might leave the matter of his fitness for duty still open, if you’d like to help me with that. All the same, it’s a stopgap measure. In the end, it all depends on how well he recovers, and it seems there’s precious little either of us can do about that.”

“Naturally, I’d be delighted to help you with the ‘editing’ of your report to Thurleigh sir.” Steve smiled.

“I’m very pleased to hear it. There is, however, another task I’d like you to carry out for me beforehand that you might be a lot less pleased to help me with.”

Steve shot his boss a questioning look.

Stark exhaled a leaden sigh. “Someone has to go and empty the lockers of the airmen who died in the crash. I’ve been putting it off because the personnel files indicate neither of them had next of kin, but it’s been over a week now, and there’s pressure on personal space as it is. Plus, if I’m honest, continuing to have those lockers with their names on isn’t particularly good for flight crew morale either.

You understand I can’t order you to do this, Mr. Rogers, but I couldn’t do it personally without drawing a lot of attention to myself and I can’t very well ask another crewmember who knew them, so that rules practically everyone else out.”

“It’s a terrible job sir, but you’ve shown me nothing but kindness and consideration from the start. It’s the least I can do to relieve you of this burden.”

“Thank you”, said Stark, gratefully. “Listen, the crews are having a briefing in another couple of hours, do you think you could do it then? That way, you won’t be disturbed.”

 

Two hours later, and having removed their identity labels, Steve started emptying out the rear gunner’s locker. There wasn’t terribly much for anyone to remember the poor young man by; just a couple of photographs of him with fellow crew members and a wallet with a pitiful handful of lower denomination Canadian dollars and a smattering of English coins. He sealed the items in a bag and labeled them to hand to the Squadron Leader, who he knew would diligently add the money to the fund he kept to assist any crew experiencing financial difficulties, matching it with a donation of his own.

Clint’s locker was altogether more crowded. The bulk of the space was taken up with several changes of civilian clothing, mostly good quality suits and fine leather shoes. The top shelf included one of those “Dear John” letters that long-standing pilots often completed to be opened in the event of their deaths. This he sealed up, together with a much fatter wallet and a couple of dozen photographs. He was just folding away the last of the suits, when something occurred to him.

His boss had trusted him with the master key.

And that meant…he could open any locker that he wanted to.

 

-*-

 

“Don’t say it, Bruce”

“What? I wasn’t going to. Really!”

Steve’s conversations with Dr. Banner had become much more convivial in the weeks following the confirmation of his pregnancy. Because of his physical frailty and the very real dangers inherent in Omega boy pregnancy, Steve had been advised to have twice-weekly checkups, and doctor and patient had rapidly settled into first name terms. However, despite the fact that the baby was little more than a mass of cells the size of a golf ball, the middle-aged Beta insisted on gallantly stating that Steve was ‘glowing’ on each and every visit.

“May I?”

Dr. Banner gently placed a stethoscope to Steve’s belly. Nothing showed externally at this stage, but that didn’t prevent the good doctor’s persistent and diligent scrutiny.

“Well, everything’s going fine. How’s the morning sickness?”

“A little better now I’m not reacting to strong scents the way I used to.”

The doctor nodded. “Your Fiancé?”

“Alpha fear isn’t easy to stomach, especially if it’s your Alpha. I tried to keep my reaction to it from him of course, but he’s no fool.”

“Probably too clever for his own good”, said Banner. “It’s not easy to treat Alphas that can hear your thoughts before you even voice them. I had similar problems with some of the higher functioning patients at High Roy…” Bruce’s tongue stilled mid-sentence and his eyes widened at the realisation he’d blundered into revealing something extremely sensitive.

“High Royds?”, quieried Steve. “When did you work there?”

“You know I shouldn’t disclose things like that, Steve”, Bruce warned. “I’ve made a terrible error even mentioning it.”

“Come off it, Bruce. You know Bucky’s writhing about in hell. Why didn’t you tell me you’d worked at the main psychiatric hospital for our area?”

Banner shrugged. “Firstly, because I changed specialisms a long while ago and secondly because most of the techniques they used over there were out of the dark ages. They wouldn’t help your fiancé one little bit”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “I just heard you say ‘most’ of the techniques wouldn’t help Bucky. So, are you actually saying that some of the techniques could?”

The doctor settled into deep thought. “Look, I could get in serious professional bother mentioning anything about my time over there. But I learned a lot from reading about a new form of mental health treatment called psychoanalysis. When I left, I took some of the books by Freud and Jung that I’d brought with me, and donated them to the medical library here. You…just might learn something useful from them.”

“That’s no good. You know as well as I do that patients can’t access the medical library.”

“No, but doctors and nurses have access and even borrowing rights, don’t they?”

Steve’s frustration dissolved in an instant. “Ah…I see what you’re getting at now. Thank you, Bruce.”

 

-*-

 

Stark rushed back to his office. The sound of the ringing bell triggered his instinct to pick up the receiver and answer with formal politeness.  Only important people ever used the telephone.

“Squadron Leader Stark speaking.”

“Well, hello there, Tony.”

Stark’s face switched from stern to smiling, “Why bless me, if it isn’t my long-lost secretary. How the devil are you Peggy?”

“Oh, you know, the same old pilots with the same old problems.”

“I hear you have Lancasters now?”

“Then you heard wrong, we’re still…oh, very clever Tony. I didn’t realise you were fishing until I was already wriggling about on the end of your sharp little hook. You haven’t lost your touch, that’s for sure.”

“Call it professional curiosity”, Stark chuckled. “We’re all on the same team, after all.”

“True, but we have different team captains. And one of them paid us a surprise visit yesterday.”

“Indeed? Do I need to fish for a name?”

“Dear me no, I’m only too proud to reveal we were literally treated to a flying visit from Air Vice-Marshall Park, resplendent in white overalls, piloting his very own personal Spitfire.”

“How thrilling for you. I hope you polished your typewriter.”

“I didn’t need to. He was too intent reading the work from someone else’s typewriter.”

Stark furrowed his brow. “I don’t think I follow you.”

“He read Steve’s article on how Bucky saved the crew …well…” she added with an imperceptible sigh, “… _most_ of the crew of the Halifax. He seemed very impressed.”

Stark’s mouth twitched. “Impressed? And what precisely does ‘impressed’ mean?”

“Well, I can’t be sure exactly. Who knows what goes on in such lofty minds? However, I’d say it’s a fair bet that your telephone might ring again in the near future, wouldn’t you?

“Point taken. Thank you for that Peggy. I appreciate you giving me the opportunity to prepare a response.”

“May I ask how Steve’s doing?”

“I thought you knew him socially? You were engaged to be married to the man after all”, Stark teased.

“As children, yes. But there’s a difference between what my erstwhile husband says and the truth, as with all men.”

Stark barked out a laugh. “Sharp as a tack, that’s you Peggy. Steve's a credit to your teaching and a fine secretary, but he lacks your insights of course.”

“Everyone lacks my insights. All the same, you can’t have me back. My new boss has me chained to the oars. But we’re veering off topic here. How is Steve really?”

“Still worried sick about his fiancé of course. Barnes is holding it together but it’s all for show and Steve knows it.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Do you know any psychiatrists?”

“No.”

“Physiotherapists?”

“No.”

“Artificial limb builders?”

“You’re…being really specific here.”

“Barnes has really specific needs.”

“You know I’m far better with paperwork.”

“That I do remember.” Peggy could hear the smile in her old boss’s voice.

“Well, if you need any rules and regulations bending for him, do let me know”, she concluded.

“Thanks. That might come in handy one day. Oh…” Stark’s tone dulled “You heard about Barton’s will I take it?”

“Yes, that must have been difficult. Has Steve told Bucky yet?”

“I shouldn’t imagine so. That might trigger all sorts of issues.”

Peggy sighed. “I wish the Good Lord would give those two a break once in a while.”

“Well, in the meantime, they’ve got us as Guardian Angels, haven’t they?”

Peggy laughed. “You’re a hoot, Tony. I miss you. Perhaps we should meet up for dinner sometime?”

“That sounds very much like a date, Miss Carter”, Stark said, a touch flirtatiously.

“So, what if it is?”

“Okay, you’re on. Tell you what? I’ll take you to the flicks this Friday. There’s bound to be something on that’s so tedious, we’ll barely need to follow the plot to pretend that we’ve actually seen it!”

“I don’t know what you could possibly be inferring”, Peggy chortled. “But I’m most intrigued to find out!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Steve will delve into the shady world of early 20th century psychoanalysis. Compared to modern counselling, prewar methods were rather crude, but I promise to minimise the angst.


	24. Shabby

 

“If I don’t get out of here soon, I’m gonna go crazy. Four weeks tomorrow. That’s practically a month.”

“So…”

Momentarily distracted by a sound of movement behind Steve, Bucky glanced away from his present conversation to address the figure that had just appeared by the door. “No, I don’t want any of your stinking tea. Go away!”

The formerly simpering auxiliary nurse who’d ministered to him during his first few days at the hospital had long since gone, replaced by a stern-looking matronly figure, but even she was no match for one of Bucky’s moods. She sensibly retreated back along the corridor.

Only then did Bucky turn back to Steve, who was looking so small and scared on the chair by his bedside, that he winced to think that he was the cause of it.

“Oh Stevie, please don’t look at me like that. I didn’t mean to frighten ya darlin’.”

“You didn’t answer my question” Steve said timidly

“What? Oh, yeah, so I’m still having bad dreams”, Bucky shrugged “But what can I do about ‘em, huh?”

“Bucky I want to talk to you. I mean I really want to talk to you.”

Bucky looked away. “When will I be able to visit Clint’s grave?”

Steve was taken aback by the unexpected question. At the debriefing, Stark had told Bucky that Clint’s body had been laid to rest in Holy Trinity churchyard, very close to Steve’s Grandma Rose, so Steve could only assume Bucky’s query was yet another delaying tactic.

“You won’t be able to visit until you get better”, said Steve, gently steering the conversation back to where he needed it to be. “And you won’t get better unless you start sharing your problems with me.”

Bucky’s jaw instantly set against that.

“Won’t you please let me in?”

“I don’t wanna hurt you, baby.”

“But you are. You’re hurting me by not talking to me.”

“What are we doing now then?”

“Dancing about the issue.”

“You know I can’t dance, Stevie.”

“Now that’s a lie.”

Bucky’s mood darkened. Another flashback of Clint teaching him the ladies/Omega boy’s dance moves. Clint’s arm on his waist, morphing into Clint’s dead body on his lap.

“I just don’t want to talk about it”

“About dancing?”, asked Steve.

Bucky grunted a non-committal response.

“But you danced with me, you know you did.”

“Yeah, Clint…”, he swallowed. “Clint taught me the wrong moves”

“And I led”, confirmed Steve. “So, honey. I need to ask you the same question I asked you back then. Do you love me?”

“Of course, I love you.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I guess…”, Bucky pulled himself up. His hesitation was wrong; he could sense that from his own instincts. “Of course, I trust you”, he revised.

“Then please, honey, please…let me lead again, okay?”

Steve could scent his fiancé’s thick itchy discomfort but he wasn’t going to be put off.

“Fine”, Bucky conceded, even though his expression showed that he clearly wasn’t fine at all. Steve wasn’t stupid. He could read mixed signals. But this was the closest he’d got to Bucky’s feelings in nearly two weeks.

“Let’s start with something small, okay?” Steve looked up, bashfully, his head tilted in a submissive pose, exposing the area of his neck where it met the shoulder, the precise location of any future mating bite.

Bucky couldn’t resist such a contrite act from his Omega boy. He lowered his defences without further complaint.

“Whatever you say, Stevie.”

“On that final flight in the ‘Lady Luck’, do you think you did something wrong?”

“Wrong?”, Bucky gave that a few moments to sink in. “No, I didn’t do something ‘wrong’. But Clint was right. We shouldn’t have been up there in the first place.”

“Clint got into a lot of trouble for not bombing that port over Germany a few months back, didn’t he?”

Bucky nodded.

“How did you deal with that at the time? Can you remember?”

“I did what you said, Stevie. I had my own secret mission, to protect my crew and keep them safe…but…but I failed them”, tears started to form in his eyes.

Steve pulled himself up on the side of the bed, and lay down next to Bucky, cradling Bucky’s hand in both of his

“Bucky, can I ask you a question from long, long ago?”

“Hmm?”

“When you were little, how did you learn about right and wrong?”

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. “Well…from my folks mostly.”

“And how did they do that?”

“Well, mom taught me to be kind and loving, and once I’d presented, my dad taught me the responsibilities of the Alpha Code. And I went to Sunday school sometimes I guess.”

“So, you learnt rules about what was right and what was wrong, then?”

“I guess”, Bucky shrugged. “The Alpha Code’s more about guidelines, not exactly rules. But yeah, as I grew up, I learned about the things you should and shouldn’t do. You know, like the Ten Commandments, “Thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not kill…” He pulled himself up at those words with a gasp. “Oh God…and I broke them, didn’t I? No wonder I’ve been punished.”

“But doesn’t every soldier break those rules in a war?”

“Maybe…but that doesn’t make it right.”

“No, I guess it doesn’t. But have you ever wondered how the other soldiers break those rules?”

“You said only cowards do things without thinking. So, maybe they just don’t think.”

“Or maybe they’re following different rules.”

“Different rules? What are you talking about, Stevie?”

“I read that, long ago, there were two English philosophers called Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mill. They thought following rules didn’t work because the rules often got twisted up in real life situations. Instead, they said we should do whatever is best for the good of the most people.”

“O…kay” said Bucky, cautiously, following the progress of Steve’s argument the way a man might follow the progress of a sidewinder slithering inexorably towards him.

“So, if your country is at war, the best thing to do for most people in your country is to defend it. To protect, like your dad taught you through the Alpha Code.”

“But to do that, I had to…”

“…kill people”. Steve cut in “And that’s wrong. We talked about that in the snug of the Royal Oak a few months ago.”

“Killing people is always wrong. Surely that’s not what’s best for anyone?”

Steve nodded. “But you joined your armed forces, Bucky, and when you did that, I’m guessing you were told you were protecting freedom and defending your country, and that would have felt good at the time. It’s only later you found out it means breaking those rules of good and bad you learnt when you were very little.”

“I just wanted to fly. I like to fly”, lamented Bucky sadly.

“And you like to protect too, I know you do. So, you flew and you protected your crew. That’s as much as you could ever do. Clint tried to do more; he tried not to kill as well. But he couldn’t do what he wanted because that’s not how the air force works. He broke the rules.”

“And now he’s dead and I killed him,” Bucky cried out.

“How?” Steve demanded, his eyes boring into Buckys as he squeezed his fiancé’s hand. “How did you kill him?”

“I killed him because I continued the mission I’d been given instead of my true mission, to protect the crew. If I’d turned back when the ‘Lady luck’ was hit, we’d have gotten home sooner, and Clint might have survived.”

“But you told Stark that you couldn’t turn back, didn’t you? If you’d turned back, you’d have flown into the hundreds of bombers flying behind you and been killed for sure.”

Bucky nodded miserably.

“Bucky, there’s nothing more you could have done, short of not being on board the ‘Lady Luck’ that night. And if someone else had been in the flight engineer’s seat, would they have been able to save Clint after the ‘plane had been hit?”

Bucky hung his head. At length he muttered “I don’t know. All I know is that I feel dirty inside and I’ll never been clean again.”

Steve paused, scenting Bucky’s deep Alpha shame. He wanted to hold him and hug him so badly. But he had one more thing to add.

“Last week I read a book by a man called Carl Jung. He said that when we’re children, we’re taught rules to protect us and keep us safe until we grow up, but when we DO grow up, we learn that life’s a lot messier and more complicated than that. We can’t stick to the letter of every law. Sometimes we have to interpret laws as best we can.”

“Killing people’s hardly something that’s open for ‘interpretation’ Stevie.”

“If you destroy a factory that makes bombs, how many lives do you save because the bombs that weren’t made can’t fall on anyone?”

“That’s a very pretty speech, Stevie. But we’re not just sent out to destroy factories and places like that. And even when we are, there’s a good chance we miss ‘em and hit something else anyhow. Hitting a target from 6000 feet up in the dark ‘aint exactly a science.”

“You’re right of course, honey”, Steve said gently, stroking the back of Bucky’s hand. “But really there’s only one way that the killing will stop, and that’s if everyone agrees to stop killing each other.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s a lil’ something called ‘peace’, sweetheart.”

Steve smiled up at him, shyly “And I want peace so much, I want peace with my Alpha so we can raise our babies safely. But I can only have that if you let go of this hate, Buck.”

Bucky’s look turned sour. “Okay” he huffed, with a certain ill-grace “Granted, I didn’t kill Clint on purpose. I get that. I feel better for it, thank you. But I still did a HECK of a lot of other bad things.”

“And I didn’t finish what I was telling you about this fellah called Jung. May I? Please?”

Bucky sighed heavily, then nodded for Steve to continue.

“He said that when we make bad decisions, they turn into a shadow that follows us.”

Bucky considered the spectre of the angel of death still lingering in the back of his mind. His eyebrows inched up. “That’s a good image. It feels…”, he swallowed thickly. “It feels very real to me.”

Steve smiled. “Well, it’s our job to take the sunshine of what we’ve done that’s good, and the shadow of what we’ve done that’s bad, and live with the both of them together, because they’re both equally a part of us. When we do bad things, we do them because we’re human and we can’t be perfect. It’s the mistakes and the compromises that make us who we are; battered and shabby and messy, but _us_ , Bucky. I love you in all your shabbiness and your messiness. I love you so much more than if you’d been perfect sunshine.”

“You’re my perfect sunshine, baby. You’re my sweet sunshine boy.”

“And it’s my job to paint your clouds with sunshine. But only if you’ll let me.”

“Oh Stevie. I want to. I want to so much, but I can’t trust my own damn mind. I’m so scared.”

“There’s nothing to be scared of, honey. Whatever problem happens, we’ll overcome it. No matter how bad it gets, we’ll find a way to live with it and be happy. Now that’s my mission – and I promise you I’ll do everything in my power to make it happen. I want to dance through life with you, and maybe sometimes, like now, you might let me lead okay?”

The sudden release from his story book spectre of the Angel of Death felt like a heavy weight lifted from Bucky’s careworn body. Tears dripped from his cheeks and spotted lightly onto the crisp white hospital bedsheets.

“Okay baby. Okay. I swear from now on, I’ll try to live with my shadow, I’ll be happy with it because your sunshine is here with me, keeping me warm, and safe, and loved.”

“That’s all I ask of you, honey” Steve soothed, drying Bucky’s tears with gentle kisses. “You won’t get better all at once and I’m sure there’ll be times you’ll still feel really bad, but If you can please try to tell me how you’re feeling and share those shadows with me, you’ll find it easier and easier to feel better again. And then we’ll be home together again and we’ll be so happy.”

 

-*-

 

The next morning, Bucky practically leapt at Sarah when she came in to check his temperature for the charts.

“Is there going to be a doctor’s round this morning?”

“Of course there is. You’ve been here long enough to know that; he’s visiting the beds in the main ward now.” Sarah’s eyes narrowed “Why?”

“I want to ask about getting discharged.”

“But…but we’re still changing the bandages.”

“Yeah but it’s gotta be pretty much healed up by now, surely?”

Sarah expression formed into a tight smile. “Physically, you’re almost there.”

The implication couldn’t have been clearer.

“Did I bother the staff last night with a nightmare? Did they have to change my wet bedsheets?”

“No,” she conceded. “But one swallow does not make a summer.”

“Fine.” Bucky was about to cross his arms, then realised that particular expression of petulance wasn’t an option for him anymore. Besides, Sarah could read him without the body language. “So, exactly how many dry nights do I need?”

Sarah leant over and smoothed his pillows out as he sat forward for her to remove the dressing at the back of his head.

“It’s not something you can flick off like a switch, Bucky. You’re going to have bad nights from time to time, and that’s okay?”

“Granted. But now that I understand what’s wrong, I can start to get better.”

“Understand what?” came a voice from the door.

Bucky tensed, then recognised the pleasant middle-aged Beta doctor. “Dr. Banner? Thank goodness. Finally, a doctor I recognise and I can talk to properly.”

Dr. Banner smiled shyly. “You couldn’t just talk with the regular one?”

“No, he was fine and all but…now I understand what’s wrong with me, I need to talk to someone I know. Steve explained it all to me, you see.”

Dr. Banner chuckled as he joined Sarah at the foot of the bed and accepted the charts she handed to him. He flicked through the papers. “So, Steve wants a crack at my job, eh? You mind me asking what he’s prescribed you?”

“Living with my shadow.”

Banner looked more than a little surpised. “Crumbs! I’d say someone’s been wearing out his mum’s hospital library card”, he exclaimed, leaving Sarah to blush at the observation.  “Carl Jung’s pretty advanced stuff to be wading through if you don’t have a background in contemporary psychotherapy. I actually met him at a seminar in Cornwall back in ’25; a quite brilliant man. I believe he gave a lecture in the States in ’36 but I’m not exactly made of money, so I confined myself to buying his books instead.”

“Stevie’s been reading his books?” asked Bucky.

“That’s my guess. I’d imagine his reference to shadows has to do with a process Jung calls ‘individuation’, where we learn to combine the good and the bad aspects of life together, instead of trying to isolate or eliminate things we don’t like about ourselves. It’s all very useful common-sense stuff, once you’ve cut through the difficult language of course. It certainly helps me to feel less guilty when I’m telling a patient off. Speaking of which, what part of “You have to eat to get better”, have you not understood yet, Mr. Barnes?” He looked up from the notes, and across to Sarah. Together they turned and gave him the hardest of hard stares.

“Oh please. Not the pair of you”, lamented Bucky “I’m not eating properly because the food here’s terrible.”

“Quick, run along and get this man a hot dog”, Dr. Banner deadpanned to Sarah.

“Could you please? That would be…”

“Are you looking to get a cold blanket bath?” Sarah cut in.

“Steve can’t afford to keep treating me to fish and chips and besides that coffee’s nearly run out”, continued Bucky, heedlessly. “Honestly Dr Banner. I need to be discharged.”

“You should listen to your nurse more, Mr. Barnes. You need a track record of good bedtime behaviour to qualify for discharge.”

“Stuck in this hospital bed without my fiancé, I don’t have the chance for any kind of bedtime behaviour.”

“How irksome for you”, Banner replied smoothly, carefully examining Bucky’s stump. “This wound really is neatly done, not the least bit of scarring after the stitches were removed. Your Canadian doctor is quite the artist.”

Sarah sat Bucky up again so Dr Banner could examine his neck “Which is more than can be said for this one. The scar’s pretty livid back here.”

“Is that…bad?” Bucky gulped.

“Not especially. It’s healing well enough. The problem is the nature of the laceration made by the cockpit canopy. It’s always going to look a touch gruesome, I’m afraid.”

“At least you don’t have to see it”, said Sarah, by way of consolation.

“No, but your son does”, Bucky replied.

“And if my son were here right now, he’d tell you he’s seen far worse in the mirror.”

The exchange distracted Bucky long enough for Dr. Banner to apply another dressing. “All in all”, he concluded, “You should be healed up in the next few days, so why don’t we continue to monitor how you’re doing generally, and make a final decision on your discharge then?”

“That’s all I ask of you, doc,” said Bucky.

-*-

 

“So, when were you gonna tell me you’d been reading books to help me, baby?” Bucky asked, finishing off the last of Steve’s chips.

Steve ducked his head and blushed. “Are you upset at me?”

“Shit, sweetheart. I love you and I love that you’d do all of that for me, but you didn’t get yourself into any trouble did you?”

“Hey! I’m an intrepid investigative reporter. It’s my job to get into danger for a good story.”

“Oh I see,” huffed Bucky in mock offence. “Is that all I am to you? A good story?”

“Yes. You’re my fairy tale come true,” Steve purred.

Alpha contentment drifted from Bucky’s scent gland. “So when do we get our happy ever after?”

“When you’re out of this bed and back in mine, honey.”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to blush.

“Isn’t Vyner Street crowded enough as it is?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your mum told me her sister’s giving up the lease on the Royal Oak and moving in.”

“Yes, that’s right. She thought it would be good for mum to have some extra help looking after me when my pregnancy develops. That’s the official story anyway. Though I’m fairly certain it has more to do with her not really wanting to work in the pub business any more without Dmitri.”

“You’re the handy excuse then?”

“Sometimes it’s good to be useful, and it’ll be nice to have her around the place.”

“Where’s she planning on sleeping?”

Steve cackled. “I should have known that’s what your first question was going to be.”

“Hey, you’re the one who started it by talking about beds, Stevie.”

“Well, right now she’s got two bedrooms above the pub and all the furniture is hers. She prefers to sleep in the twin-bedded room, so she’s thinking of bringing both single beds with her to go in the front bedroom for her and my mum. They’re both in a lot better condition than the one mum sleeps on now. Why, that bedframe of hers is nearly rusted through.”

Steve blushed again, lowering his head to Bucky as he sat on the side of the hospital bed. “Nat’s also got a big brass double bed; a really fancy Victorian one with a plump mattress. She was…wondering if we’d like to have that, so I’ll have more space for when my baby bump grows.”

“Oh, that sounds real special”, murmured Bucky, in a deeply sensual tone.

“Would you like that?”

“Let’s just say, I’m really looking forward to her moving in now”, Bucky grinned. “So, who gets to cuddle up with Spitfire?”, he added.

“Sadly, no-one”, sighed Steve. “Spitfire’s the official pub cat. He isn’t Nat’s pet. As such, he’s considered part of the fixtures and fittings so he has to stay behind.”

“Aww”, Bucky pouted. “As you said, he’s not exactly a ‘cuddle cat’ but I’ll kinda miss the old calico.”

“I’m sure he’ll be perfectly happy as long as he has mice to hunt in the cellar.”

“And no dumb Americans stuck down there to scare ‘em off!”

Steve smiled sweetly. “I don’t see any dumb Americans.”

“I was dumb enough to hurl myself into the air in a lump of metal.”

“You weren’t dumb. You were brave. But…”

“What is it sweetheart?”

Steve let out a big sigh. “I need you to be brave for me now, honey.”

Bucky’s stomach lurched. He’d scented a slight nervousness around Steve ever since he’d wafted in with the fish and chip supper. “What’s wrong. Have I done something bad?”

“No, of course not, Buck. But I do need to tell you a couple of things that you might not like to hear. I was holding off but if you really want to get better and leave, then its best you know now. Stark could tell you, but I think it would sound better on my lips.”

“Everything sounds better on your lips”, Bucky murmured, but his mind cast back to the airfield again, and he shuddered involuntarily.

“We’ll start with the more difficult news first. Clint had no folks of his own, his adopted parents died some years back. He left everything he had to you, well to us actually, but in legal terms that means to you as the ‘pack’ Alpha. I’m…I’m sorry to have to tell you about this”, Steve’s voice faltered.

“It’s okay, baby. Most airmen write notes giving their things away if they don’t come home. Clint never told me who he’d left his things to, but it was real nice of him to remember us like that.”

“He left two pairs of dress shoes in your size and some suits that are too big for me, and too small for you. I could get them tailored down to fit me if you’d like, but I’ll not do that if it would give you bad memories.”

“That’s so kind of you to think that way, Stevie. But I never saw Clint wear anything but his uniform, so there’s no memories to trigger. It would help if you could have them laundered though, to remove any lingering trace of his scent on them.”

Steve nodded. “He also left us some British and Canadian currency. Stark took the liberty of converting the Canadian dollars into pounds, shillings and pence for us.”

“How much?”

“You’re the legal recipient, so I haven’t been told officially, but when I asked Stark if there was enough money there for me to get a tailor to resize a couple of the suits, he said there was probably enough to buy half the tailor’s shop, and I don’t think he was entirely joking.”

“Well, if it’s mine officially, then you open a bank account and I’ll deposit it for us both so we can build a future together.”

“You mean…a joint account?”

Bucky nodded. “Sure.”

Steve leaned down and kissed him tenderly on the lips. “I love you, Bucky Barnes.”

“And I love you, my sunshine boy. Till the end of the line, remember?”

Alpha happiness burst through the room as Bucky’s smile extended from ear to ear.

“Well, whatever the other news is, it can’t possibly wipe this grin off of my face.”

Steve took a deep breath. “You know how I feel about you, honey. You’re the finest sweetest bravest man in the world. I know there are times you don’t feel any of those things…”

“Especially the last one”, Bucky cut in.

“But other people do think you’re brave, Buck, and not just me. This is going to hurt you to have to think about so early in your recovery, but you did save four people’s lives. Even that navigator’s out of traction now.”

Bucky shrugged somewhat uncomfortably. “So, what’s your point?”

“The point is that when you do something like that, other people look up and take notice. Stark wrote up a report from his debriefing with you, and I…”, Steve gulped nervously.

“It’s…okay”, Bucky reassured him gently “You can tell me, Stevie?”

Steve looked down at the bed sheets. “I might just have erm…written an article based on them for the evening paper.”

Bucky bit his lip. “Well, that was a bit naughty of you Stevie, but I’m really not mad at you or anything. I mean, you had to put something in the paper I guess, and it’s not as if anyone takes all that much notice of local newspapers…no offence”, he added, as an afterthought.

“None taken”, Steve replied. “But in this case, you’re wrong. Someone did take notice. Stark got a phone call from someone very important in the Royal Air Force. Apparently, they’re thinking of giving you some kind of honour.”

Bucky went white as a sheet and pressed a hand to his forehead in panic.  “Oh no…no, no, no Stevie”, he wailed, “You know what happens if I draw attention to myself? They’ll send me away!”

Steve’s eyebrows knitted together. “Who’ll send you away?”

“Thurleigh. I mean, the US Air Force. I shouldn’t even be here in the first place. So far, I’ve managed to keep a low profile, but if they find out I’m in line for some kind of medal or other then they’ll start to take more notice of me. They might try and make me leave you.”

“They can’t. I mean, they wouldn’t. Surely Stark knows that?”

“Stark is Royal Canadian Air Force. He’s got no control over US Air Force decisions. Can’t you see he’s powerless? He’ll have no choice but to give me up if he’s directly ordered to.”

Steve looked outraged. “Are you really telling me that the US Air Force is going to order a decorated war hero away from the pregnant Omega boy he’s engaged to?”

Bucky shook his head sadly. “I wouldn’t put it past them.”

All the Alpha happiness was sucked out of the room, replaced by the bitter almond scent of anxiety. Bucky’s shadow began to show. As started to weep softly, Steve stroked his back in soothing circles.

“I’m lost, I’m lost”, Bucky repeated in a mantra of deep despair.

“Oh honey. I feel so terrible. I brought all this on you.”

“It’s not your fault…” Bucky stuttered. “You weren’t responsible.”

But Steve did feel responsible; entirely responsible.  And right there and then, he resolved to do something about it.

 

 


	25. Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter for you this week, with new characters added to our story.

 

“Good afternoon, Barnes”

“Good afternoon, sir”

The last time Squadron Leader Stark had visited Bucky was at the debriefing. Bucky had felt the almost uncontrollable urge to stand to attention, because saluting whilst lying in bed just didn’t feel right. Of course, Stark had waved away his attempts then, just as he did now, but Bucky still felt unaccountably guilty addressing a man of higher military rank in the manner of a civilian.

“So, how are you feeling?” Stark asked, taking the chair by Bucky’s bed.

“I’m feeling fine sir; much stronger. I should be out of here in no time.”

“That’s not what I hear. I hear you’re moping around with a miserable look on your face stinking the place out with Alpha self-pity.”

Bucky gulped. Was his scent that obvious?

“Sheeesh, what died in here?”

He looked round, to see Peggy holding her nose at the door.

“Proof positive, Barnes”, grunted Stark. “Peggy, I mean Officer Carter, never lies.”

“Oh, come off it, Tony. I can’t believe you’re still pretending I don’t know you.”

 _“Pas devant les enfants”_ , Stark hissed back at her.

Bucky just about managed to suppress a smile. His sunshine boy was right, translation was treason, and this dumb American knew enough French to appreciate the _“not in front of the children”_ , remark meant that Tony and Peggy were probably much more than just work colleagues, or even good friends for that matter.

Nonetheless, he played it as straight as he could for the sake of appearance.

“So, if you don’t mind my asking in English”, he said “Exactly why are you both here?”

“To save your sorry ass”, shrugged Stark.

“Huh?”

“One of the disadvantages of having a lovesick pregnant Omega boy as a secretary is that sometimes you’re obliged to listen to him”, Stark continued. “And - much as it pains me to admit it - you’re right, Barnes. The Royal Air Force recommending you for an honour might well place you in very real danger”

“So, I’ve looked into the legal issues”, continued Peggy. “Essentially put, the US Air Force has the right to do anything they want. You are entirely their responsibility.”

“Yeah that’s kinda what I figured”, grumbled Bucky.

“But they can only recall you without appeal if you’ve been incapacitated and are unfit for military duty.”

“Oh, this just keeps getting better and better”, Bucky retorted sarcastically. “Just look at the state of me!”

“Let me finish, dear” Peggy chided. “I’ve looked this stuff up. The definition of ‘military duty’ according to US Air Force legislation comprises the maintenance, piloting or crewing of combat or auxiliary aircraft and related facilities and equipment or the training of air force personnel in a combat or auxiliary combat capacity.”

“I gather that’s pretty much a standard definition for all Allied armed forces”, clarified Stark. “And it explains why Steve remains a civilian. Operating a typewriter or a filing cabinet isn’t a combat or auxiliary combat operation.”

Bucky’s expression turned sarcastic. “Well, thank you both for these fascinating details, but I don’t see how any of this helps. I can’t do any of those things you’ve defined, including operating Steve’s typewriter, with one arm.”

“You’re right”, agreed Peggy. “But if you had a functional prosthetic, I’m pretty sure you could.”

“I’ve talked about this already with the doctors here”, Bucky sighed wearily. “They could fix me up with a wooden hand with joints or a hook-like device. Both better than nothing of course, but neither up to the task of either fixing or flying a bomber.”

“In civilian terms, that’s true”, Stark conceded “But what if we worked on building you something that did a lot more?”

“We?”, queried Bucky.

“Squadron Leader Stark and I have approached the engineers at Topcliffe and Pocklington jointly”, Peggy explained. “With your permission, they’ll work together to manufacture you a multifunctional arm. Now, combat repairs remain their priority and there’s no guarantee they’ll succeed, but, having explained the situation to them, they’re very keen to try.”

Stark nodded. “There’s an additional reason for both airfields to work together on this which Peg…I mean…Officer Carter has neglected to mention. It’s possible that if the US Air Force was being particularly pedantic, they could claim that a British civilian prosthetic wasn’t your property and you therefore couldn’t use it to fulfil your duties.”

“However”, Peggy continued “A prosthetic manufactured jointly by British and Canadian military personnel…

“Don’t forget Australian”, Tony cut in. “Topcliffe have just secured a temporary secondment from the Royal Australian Air Force; their first lady engineer, no less.”

“He’s very proud”, added Peggy, in motherly tones. “So, as I was saying, a prosthetic designed and created by military personnel from no less than _three_ countries, cannot possibly be claimed back by any single one of them, and certainly not confiscated by the US Air Force. Not unless they want a war on their hands, if you’ll forgive the expression.”

“And you’d do all this, for me?”, asked Bucky.

“Pah”, Stark batted away the implication. “We’re not doing it for you. I just can’t stand the scent of heartsick Omega boy in my office any more. It’s wilting the plants.”

“And it’s hardly likely to be good for his baby either”, added Peggy.

Bucky’s smile waned. “I can see a problem though”, he said.

“Is there something we haven’t forseen?” asked Peggy.

“Well, if this prosthetic is going to be functional enough to pilot a bomber, then it’s going to have to be very complicated indeed. So, it’ll take a great deal of training to learn how to use it. I’d need to be able to do everything that’s needed to operate the complex controls, because it’s a fair bet the US Air Force won’t just take your word for it that I’m combat fit. They’ll want to see a realistic demonstration.”

“What do you take us for, Barnes? We already thought of that”, sniffed Stark. “The engineers can brief you on the controls of course, but to operate it properly what you really need are the skills of a highly qualified orthopaedic physiotherapist.”

Bucky shot them both an incredulous look. “And where exactly do you propose getting one of those at such short notice?”

Peggy’s delighted smile was a picture. Bucky followed her gaze to a slim feminine figure framed by the door, wearing a starched white clinician’s smock, sunlight from the adjacent window partially obscuring her face.

“Why, from Brooklyn of course, Buckaroo”, the figure replied, in instantly recognisable tones.

“B…Becca?!”, Bucky gasped.

Bucky’s sister rushed over to hurl her arms around his neck.

“Becca, my sweet Baby Becca! What the? How the? Where…”

“Is he usually like this?”, giggled Peggy.

“No”, Becca said, pulling away. “He’s usually a whole lot worse.”

Bucky was overjoyed but also embarrassed to have his beloved twin sister see him like this. But if she was upset by the way he looked, then it certainly didn’t show in her face, her voice, or her oh-so-wonderful warm family scent that immediately took him back to their blissful childhood together.

“How…”, Bucky could barely string the words together “How did you get here? How did you even know about…”

“Bucky, you’re a smart Alpha, I’ve always said so”, Becca cut in. “It stands to reason you’d get engaged to an equally smart Omega boy. Do you think Steve wouldn’t find a way of getting in touch with me?”

“But all your details are safe in…”

“Your locker?” smirked Becca, as she glanced over to Stark. “Never trust your secretary with a master key, Squadron Leader.”

“Oh please”, sniggered Stark. “Why do you think I gave him that key in the first place? I simply…put temptation in his path, shall we say?”

Peggy sneaked a kiss to Stark’s cheek as brother and sister hugged each other tightly.

 

 

-*-

 

“So, you really think you can help me?” Bucky asked, once Peggy and Stark had said their goodbyes and left him in peace to chat with his sister.

“I don’t see why not, Buckaroo. I was trained for cases like this. The therapy to get your stump used to the prosthetic is simple enough. Of course, you’ll whine and bellyache about it because it’ll make you tired and sore, but I’m sure I can bully you into wearing one in double-quick time. The unusual adaptations they’re talking about might take a bit longer to get used to, but I’m sure I’ll figure out a way for you to get the hang of them. You’re an…an interesting case, that’s for sure.” she flashed a roguish grin at him

“What did our folks say when they found out about the…the…” Bucky couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

“Mom cried a bit, but you know dad. He said you were made of stern stuff and you’d pull through just fine. He just about convinced me to come over to you all by himself, but that letter from Steve put the cherry on top of that particular cake. I found a way of convincing the good folk at Georgetown University to sponsor me to come over on an exchange visit for a year, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

It felt so wonderful to feel Becca close to him again. Even after all these years, her reassuring confident scent filled him with awe and wonder. She was always his inspiration. He knew getting over to York from New York wouldn’t have been an easy matter. She must have worked hard, damned hard, to get there, and he wasn’t going to let his sister or his fiancé down with any cry-baby whining.

“So, what did Steve’s letter say?”

“Ah well”, she said. “That would be telling. Plus, I don’t want you getting a bigger head than you’re developing already, mister soon-to-be decorated glorious war hero. I wish they’d let me pin the ribbon on you. I know exactly what needs to be punctured!”  Her laughter calmed into a gentle smile as she continued. “The letter told us everything we needed to know about Steve and meeting him confirmed that for me.”

“You’ve already met him?”

“He picked me up in the station in a hackie and I spent last night with him and his mom before I got officially transferred to my room in the nurse’s home.”

“So?” Bucky looked up at her with pleading puppy-dog eyes.

“Okay, okay”, she continued. “I’d know that look of desperate anticipation anywhere. Honestly, what can I say? He’s sweet, gentle, funny, strong, wise and so incredibly brave. I love him. He’s everything I ever wanted for my brother, and more.”

“Were my folks disappointed about his disability?”

“What? No; God no, Buck. You think I’d be working in physiotherapy if they didn’t respect people with disabilities?”

“Yes, but there’s a difference between…”

“No there isn’t”, Becca interrupted firmly. “There’s no difference between who we help and who we love. Our folks are thrilled to have him be part of the family, and I’ll be writing to them real soon to assure them that you’re making exactly the right choice. There’s only one thing that upsets them.”

Bucky looked up at her questioningly.

Becca's eyes surveyed the floor and she continued quietly. “He’s really not safe here, Buck. What happens if he gets injured with a baby on the way?”

“I’m with him, I’ll protect him.”

“You can’t protect him from the bombers. It was only by the Grace of God he didn’t get killed in that fire at the railroad station last time.”

“I’m taking the same risk; so are you.”

“Yes, but I’m only here for a short while, and you can take care of yourself, Buckaroo.”

“So can Steve.”

Becca shrugged good-naturedly. “That’s true enough. He’s the toughest Omega boy I’ve ever seen, on either side of the Atlantic. I know how bad Polio can be, but he bounds up those stairs like they were nothing. And he’s got a kick like a mule!”

“That’s partly down to better nutrition. He ate your cake like a thing possessed.”

“Well it makes a change for you to share your cake with anyone”, laughed Becca. “But you know he’d get better food with us as well, right?”

“Sis, I hear what you’re saying, but I can’t ask him to leave his family, and everything he’s ever known. This is his life.”

“I know. I’m sorry. That’s not our folks talking, by the way, that’s me. I just love him so much. He’s like another brother to me already, and I don’t want him to go without good things when we’ve got so much to share.”

Bucky swallowed down his feelings. Becca was right of course, but it really wasn’t his choice. And if he were in Steve’s position, would he want to leave the family he loved and go live somewhere else? Somehow, he doubted it.

“So, what was the couch like?”

“Huh?”

“The couch. Steve offered it to me once but I said I’d prefer his bed.”

“Yeah, I preferred his bed too.”

Bucky did a double take. “Wait a minute. You shared a bed with my fiancé?”

“And why not? It’s perfectly proper ain’t it? I shared a bed with you often enough. At least he leaves room for a lady, unlike some big dumb Alphas we could mention.”

Bucky laughed lightly as his sister pinched his cheek

“It’s funny though”, she added. “You know he scents like you, right?”

“What? Really?”

Becca placed her hand on his. “You probably don’t notice because you’re used to your own scent, but I reckon with him presenting so late in life, that his scent just naturally bonded with yours. It’s not the same of course; it has that spicy tang that’s unmistakable Omega, and it’s more delicate than yours because he’s so much smaller, but the basic scent pattern is yours. It was like being in bed with my Omega kid brother”, she smiled wistfully.

“That would explain why I didn’t recognise his first proper heat”, said Bucky. “I could scent something; that spiciness you mentioned, but I didn’t understand what it was because I guess I can’t scent myself.”

“And not many people know that Omega scent doesn’t just come from the gland, it’s also all-pervasive in the skin. That’s why their skin is so much softer. It’s especially noticeable with Omega boys, because you men tend to have courser skin anyway.”

Bucky smiled. “You learned more about my Stevie from one night in bed with him than I have in the last eight months.”

“Well, in another eight months, you’ll be learning some more new things about him, I’m sure. I know how tricky Omega boy pregnancies can be, especially towards the later stages, so I’m glad I’ll be here to help with that.”

“But how are you going to get the time off from work?”

“It’s important I do a good job to justify the exchange”, Becca agreed. “But if I can establish a good relationship with my superiors, I’m sure I’ll be able to negotiate a decent period of leave nearer the time. I can be very persuasive when I have to be.”

“That’s true, but you never persuaded me to sleep on the couch, even though I obviously didn’t give you enough space in bed”, Bucky laughed.

“Well, I have a very nice bed in the nurse’s home now, thank you very much, and no Alphas or Betas are allowed, so I don’t have to share with you anymore, Buckaroo Barnes.”

“But first you sneak a lie-in with my Stevie! Well I guess you know what I wake up to every morning, when flying night-raids at the airfield…” Bucky’s face fell as he mentioned it. “Look, will I ever fly again, sis? Tell me honestly.”

“You were always fascinated with flying machines. I can’t believe you’d let a little thing like this get in the way of your dreams.”

“I’m not sure I’d call it little.”

“There goes my brother again, with the negative attitude.”

“More like realistic.”

Becca snorted, “Steve’s right. You’ve got a whole storm of storm clouds there, mister. I’m glad you’ve got him to paint them with his sunshine for ya.”

Bucky flashed a wide smile at her. “You even know his song?”

“Of course, I do.” Becca rolled her eyes. “The movie it came from was set on Broadway, after all. And it’s not like I had much else to do except go to the movie theatre on my own when my brother had his Alpha ass up in the air in one of those canvas and string contraptions.”

Bucky shook his head with a grin he couldn’t get off his face. It was so good to have Becca back in his life.

“And let me tell you, you’ll be back up in the air before you know it. Your friends are working on the arm, I’ll work on the stump, and I’m sure Steve’ll be ready with his sunshine. All you gotta do is work on that lousy attitude of yours, Buckaroo”, she teased.

 

-*-

 

“There were times I didn’t think I’d ever feel you close to me again”, Bucky admitted, his voice barely a whisper despite the privacy of their bedroom back home.

Steve turned over in bed to face him.

“Why did you ever think that, honey?”

Bucky’s eyes fluttered downwards “I’m….well, I’m not sure I’m worth all this to you, Stevie.”

Steve tilted Bucky’s chin up with his index finger. “Hey, now. None of that. That’s just not true. Do you remember how I used to be before you got me those extra food rations?”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Everything”, Steve replied emphatically “I wouldn’t be as strong as I am; I wouldn’t be carrying your child right now, without your help.”

Bucky gave a self-effacing half shrug.

“That's how we are, honey. That’s how it’s always going to be. I fix you, and you fix me.” Steve’s earnest expression turned mischievous. “And you’ve certainly ‘fixed’ me up this time, haven’t you?” he grinned, pointing to his belly.

“Oh God, I love you so much, Stevie.”

Bucky’s embrace of Steve was firm but gentle, aware that his fragile love was bearing a precious life within him, but absolutely desperate to be as close to him as physically possible. His Alpha instincts screamed at him to hold on; to hold on and never let go. And he’d never let go again; not now, not ever.

Steve snuffled into Bucky’s chest, his delicate hands combing Bucky’s hair.

“Not too far down the back please, sweetheart?”

“It’s okay, honey”, Steve whispered gently. “I understand”

“It’s just that my neck wound feels…well, it feels real nasty back there.”

“Does it…does it hurt you?”, Steve asked, hesitantly.

“No, but it’s rough. I don’t want you to feel the roughness.”

“May I see?”

Bucky pulled away a little.

“Please?”, Steve whispered.

Gritting his teeth, Bucky turned around into “little spoon” position. Steve gently carded his hair aside to reveal the livid red scar on the back of his neck.

“It’s…it’s bad isn’t it?”, Bucky said.

While Peggy was in with him, quoting the military rule book, Bucky had asked her what the regulations were on hair.  He was lucky. The US army insisted on hair being ‘short’, whereas the US Air force’s wording was ‘neat and tidy’. He could safely grow his hair to collar length at the back if he kept it trimmed, and if anyone questioned it, he had a watertight excuse for his choice of hairstyle.

After a pause, Steve said. “No, it’s not bad. It’s part of you, Buck, just like your stump, just like my legs. Just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean you should punish it. A scar has had punishment enough.”

Without the slightest pause for hesitation, Bucky felt Steve press a series of gentle kisses along the scar tissue. He wanted to flinch at the touch, but he realised it was his mind that didn’t like what was happening. His body just soaked up Steve’s kisses, no matter where they went.

“You want to stay there for a bit?”

Bucky hummed happily.

Steve began to gently stroke his fingers into the dark thicket of chest-hair between Bucky’s pectoral muscles. Since the pregnancy, the tang of Steve’s Omega scent had sharpened, and the instinct to scent his Alpha drew him to instinctively pet and nose Bucky’s chest.

“You like that part of me don’tcha, baby?”

“Er…yes…” came the bashful reply. He could feel Steve’s radiant bashfulness. He was pretty sure that little spot was something very special in Steve’s not-entirely innocent sunshine fantasies.

“You mind me asking why?”

He could feel Steve’s little erection starting to strain at the back of his thigh

“When I nose it, I can scent you very strongly, honey. I know it’s not your scent gland but there’s something there that’s musky and sweet and so you…and the hair itself is soft and gentle too.”

Steve’s voice was low and husky, inviting mating. Bucky’s instincts screamed again, this time even louder, but he’d promised to do this properly; marriage first, and then when his rut came, the bite would follow on instinct, and if Steve’s belly was too big for mating, then he’d force himself to wait. He’d never do anything to endanger their precious baby.

“You know what turns me on about you, Stevie?”

“I’m warning you, if you say “everything”, I’m going to projectile vomit all down your back.”

Buck burst out laughing. “You wouldn’t!”

“It’s only been a month since I stopped feeling the worst effects of the morning sickness, so don’t tempt me.”

“In that case, I’ll say something else.”

“That’s a very wise move.”

“What turns me on the most is your golden voice. I love hearing you sing.”

Steve smiled into Bucky’s ear. “I’ve a confession to make to you about that”

“Oh, I love it when you confess”, Bucky murmured.

“When you were in the Halifax and I was trying to get you back to Topcliffe, I was standing there in my dressing gown…”

“In your dressing gown?”, Bucky queried.

“Stark woke me up in the middle of the night to get me to Topcliffe and talk you down. Didn’t you know that?”

“No…I gotta admit, I didn’t know what time it was, or how you got there. I didn’t think to ask.”

“Well, to be fair, it wasn’t exactly your highest priority at the time”

“Weren’t you cold?”

“I didn’t think about it. I was terrified I was going to lose you, Buck.”

“God, baby. It must have been awful for you”

“It was nothing compared to what you went through, though telling you I was pregnant while surrounded by the control tower staff probably wouldn’t be an experience I’d want to go through again.”

“Why did you tell them that?”

“I didn’t tell them that. I told you that, remember? But they were there as well.”

“Damn. I bet you got some odd looks.”

“I tried not to think about them. All I was concentrating on was you. Anyway, Stark was probably glaring at them.”

“He knew already?”

“I’d told him that afternoon, once I got back from my appointment with Dr. Banner. I couldn’t reach you to tell you. I felt so bad about it because…because I was worried about the pregnancy and I didn’t know if you wanted the baby or not. I was so scared I’d have to face the pregnancy alone because you wouldn’t want a baby with me.”

Bucky shifted back round to face Steve. He tilted his fiancés chin up with a finger.

“Baby, look at me?”

Steve looked deep into Bucky’s eyes.

“You’d never have to worry about that, not then, not now, not ever. I love you so much, sweetheart. I will always want to have babies with you. I want to marry you and settle down and have Sarah and Nat coo over a houseful of gorgeous little British babies so we can be one big happy family together.”

“But what about Becca and the rest of your family?”

“We’ll smuggle ‘em over.”

Steve giggled. “Well, I managed with one of them at least. Becca’s such a sweetie, though she’s nothing compared with her brother.”

“You might just be a teensy bit biased there, Stevie.”

“Perhaps”, he teased.

“Anyway, what’s this I hear about you and Becca keeping this bed warm for me?”

Steve grinned. “I wanted to know what it was like to share a bed with the only other person who’s ever shared a bed with you.”

“And, how was it?”

“She’s lots of fun, but over-excitable. She doesn’t settle down like you.”

“We were like that as kids, always leaping about in the bed like a couple of bedbugs. I don’t need to do that no more. I got someone to settle down with.”

“Then I’m glad”, sighed Steve using his fiancé’s chest as a pillow. “But I never finished my confession. “

“Oh? This is gonna be good.”

He felt Steve’s hot breath on his nipple as he blurted out a laugh. “So, there I am in my dressing gown holding the microphone, about to try and talk you down.”

“And you thought of the railway and wanted to sing your sunshine song to me?”

“Hey! After all that build up and you stole my punchline, honey”, Steve giggled.

Although…” he lifted his head again “Now I’ve made my confession”, his eyes twinkled “May I?...”

He carefully scented into Bucky’s sweet dark patch of chest hair, and then…tentatively, experimentally began to bathe it with his tongue

“Ohhhhh baby” growled Bucky. “You…you have no idea what that feels like.”

“Oh but I thooo…” spluttered Steve, fishing a couple of stray chest-hairs off his tongue.

The pair of them burst out laughing.

-*-

 

“You. Work. Here?”

Becca’s eyes bulged as she stepped into one of Topcliffe airfield's enormous hangars , staring wide-eyed at an enormous Lancaster bomber with giant maple leaves painted over each wing.

“Welcome to the future! Over a hundred-foot wingspan, four feet wider than our old Halifaxes and packing a far deadlier punch”, announced Squadron Leader Stark proudly, more to Peggy - who was currently leaning on his arm - than to the rest of the group.

“It’s incredible”, gasped Becca.

“She”, corrected Bucky.

“She?”

“All aircraft, ships, basically anything mechanical, is designated female.”

“Funny, I can’t scent it, Buckaroo”, she smirked.

“It’s just a turn of phrase.”

“But can’t you have a “he” aircraft for Omega boys like Steve?”

The blond had been trailing at the back of the impromptu ‘tour’, barely listening, but now his ears pricked up.

“What?”, Steve asked.

“I was asking Bucky if he could name a bomber after you.”

“Oh, I don’t think that would do at all, Becca. The ‘Steve Rogers’ isn’t exactly a name to conjure with. You need a daring or a sexy name.”

“And who said your name wasn’t sexy?”, Bucky whispered in his ear.

“Cut that out, Senior Airman Barnes. We’re not here for hanky-panky”, Steve deadpanned.

“Awww, you’re no fun!”, pouted Bucky.

“Oh, and in answer to your first question, Becca” said Stark. “ No, your brother doesn’t actually work here in the hangars, although talking to the engineers is an important part of his job. He’s here today because the engineers are the ones who’ve been building his prosthetic.”

“And here it is”, announced a sturdily built mature lady with kindly eyes, clad in a khaki brown pair of dungarees. Her accent betrayed the unmistakable lilt of Australian English. “And isn’t she a beaut?”

“Even your arm is female?” murmured Becca. “You’re definitely going to have to change that.”

“That looks amazing, Beth” agreed Stark.

Bucky whistled appreciatively at the shiny metal appendage in Beth’s hands.

“What can she do?”, he asked.

Senior engineer Beth Tanner beamed at the question. “What can’t she do?”, she replied. “She can rotate, grip, bend and lift up to 50 pounds. More than enough to operate any aircraft controls.”

“And waterproof?” Bucky persisted.

“Pure Aluminium.” Beth tapped the casing with her knuckles. Light, amazingly strong, stain-resistant, waterproof. The only downside is the risk of spontaneous combustion at very high temperatures. Basically, try not to stick your nice new arm into a furnace and you’ll do just fine.”

“So, how exactly does the arm operate?” asked Becca, slipping into physiotherapy mode.

“She’s attached through a series of leather straps, a bit like Steve’s leg braces, but then there’s adjustable hydraulic levers to allow the prosthetic hand and arm to perform complex operations through indirect pressure from Bucky’s current arm,” Beth explained. “I won’t pretend that it’ll be plain sailing at first, but I reckon he’s smart enough to learn, don’t you?”

“I’m not too sure about that”, joked Becca, “But I’ll drill it into his thick skull somehow. You want to try it on, Buckaroo?”

Stark, Beth and Becca helped slide the prosthetic sheath into Bucky’s stump.

“We got Dr Banner’s final measurements,” said Beth. “So, she should fit you like a glove. Now we just attach the straps here, and…here…and he’s good to go.”

Bucky could feel the dead weight pulling down on his body. He had a sudden flashback of dashing from the second pilot’s seat of the ‘Lady Luck’ to check on Clint. His arm was a dead weight then too. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to accept his shadow and move on.

“That okay?” asked Becca, her face a picture of concern. “Not too tight?”

“No, it’s…it’s fine.”

“The metal levers slide here into the wrist and elbow”, Beth explained to Becca.

“That’s a neat job. Thanks Beth. You and your team have done a terrific job”

“Anything for a friend”, she grinned, patting Bucky on the back and stepping aside.

“So, let’s just try something”, Becca instructed. “Bend your elbow inwards and upwards”

Bucky obeyed, and the metal arm jerked abruptly. He was taken aback when something he couldn’t feel mechanically responded to his command.

“Whoa!”

“I know, Buckaroo. It’ll take some getting used to, but clearly it’s working for you. We just need to practice at home for a bit.”

Steve wrapped himself round Bucky’s waist.

“How does that feel, honey?”

“Not so close, sweetheart”, Bucky warned “This thing moved real quick just then, I’m scared it’ll do something without me knowing and hurt you and the baby.”

Steve nodded, instinctively giving the new arm a wide berth. “But you’ll master it”, Steve said “I just know you will. You’re good with machinery.”

“This ain’t no Halifax.”

“I beg to differ,” said Beth “She’s mostly made up of the old Halifax spares we won’t need any more now that we’re flying Lancasters.”

“Well I’ll be”, exclaimed Bucky.

“See?” grinned Steve. “I remember you telling me there was no plane safer than the Halifax. I don’t know about you, but I feel safer already!”

 

-*-

“Well if it isn’t the amateur psychologist, with his baby Papa in tow. How are you?”

Bucky did a double-take. He was wasn’t used to doctors sounding so chatty, but Dr. Banner clearly had developed a very informal relationship with his fiancé. It’s not that he was jealous, just…surprised. Maybe the British weren’t so stiff-upper-lipped after all?

“That’s enough levity, Bruce. I’m here for my twice-weekly prod.”

“Can’t Bucky do that for you?”

“He doesn’t use a stethoscope for that”, giggled Steve, slipping off his shirt.

“No? Well, I’m sure I’ve got a spare here somewhere. Actually…that’s not a bad idea. Bucky?...oh erm, Mr Barnes…do you mind me calling you Bucky by the way?

“S’ my name doc”, Bucky smiled.

“I’m just going to check on your baby’s heartbeat” He placed the chestpiece of his stethoscope on Steve’s little baby bump.

“Yes…yes, that’s fine. Good and strong. Bucky, could you come here please?”

The Alpha sidled over a little nervously.

 “Now, you see how I place the chestpiece on Steve’s tummy?”

“Yup.”

“Now you do the same.”

He handed another stethoscope over to Bucky. Copying Dr. Banner’s moves, he slid the chestpiece around until he heard the faint swish-swish-swish of the Baby’s heartbeat. Bucky beamed.

“Stevie, I can hear our baby!” he exclaimed.

Steve smiled gently down at him.

“Whoa…WHOA, what is THAT?” Bucky gasped, scenting the air.

Dr Banner took a discrete sniff to verify. “Steve’s coming to the end of his first trimester. From this point, Omega boys tend to release strong maternal pheromones. They’re instinctive, and designed to bond mother to baby and Alpha to Omega even tighter, because from this point, the growing baby makes it harder for Steve to protect himself as easily.”

Bucky looked earnestly at Steve, handing the stethoscope back to Dr. Banner. “You needn’t worry about that, sweetheart. I’m gonna be here for you every step of the way. Till the end of the line”, he reassured.

Dr. Banner pressed the stethoscope back into Bucky’s hands “Keep it. It’s my little gift to you. This way you can listen to your baby any time you want.”

As they were leaving, Steve caught sight of Sarah in the corridor and hobbled over to chat with her.

“Before I go, doc, have I time to ask you a question while Steve can’t hear us?”

“Fire away”, the doctor smiled.

“You said Omega boys needed special care at this stage in their pregnancy. I remember learning about the difficulties of Omega boy pregnancy at school, but can you give me some tips to help keep my Stevie safe?”

Dr. Banner nodded sagely. “That’s a difficult question to ask and I applaud your bravery in asking it. As I’m sure you already know, Omega boys lack a uterus. That means baby settles lower in their abdomen than in girls. This doesn’t harm the baby of course, but it means any sudden jolts of shocks can be much more dangerous during pregnancy. And not just for the baby. You’ll doubtless have been taught in human biology classes that if an Omega boy loses their baby…” he paused, seeing the tears welling up in Bucky’s eyes. “Yes, I…I thought so. Well, I’m glad the American education system prepares you with that kind of knowledge so I don’t need to go into the implications of what happens then. But your Steve’s a fighter, so it’s very important that you help him to maintain his independence for as long as possible. Be mindful of danger but don’t overtly mollycoddle him or he’ll resent it.”

“I see”, Bucky sighed. “Well, thank you so much for the advice doc. I’m really glad Steve has you as his gynaecologist.”

 

-*-

Bucky wiped the sheen of sweat off his brow. Twilight was just beginning to fall.

“Come in, your dinner’s ready”, called Sarah.

“How did the arm function”, she asked, once he’d trudged in.

“Just great” Bucky grinned. “I think I’m getting the hang of it now. The vegetable patch is looking clean and tidy again.”

“Your friend Clint would be proud of you, Bucky, you know that?”

Bucky nodded, adopting a slightly uncomfortable smile, as he stripped off his undershirt and washed up in the kitchen sink. He still hadn’t summoned up the courage to visit Clint’s grave, and a sharp needle-point of guilt stabbed into his chest.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay, Sarah. I have to get used to life as it is, I guess.”

“I know, but I appreciate it’s difficult for you.” She handed him a clean shirt. “Steve’s been to the bank while you were working this afternoon. He’s opened that account for you both. Apparently, they wanted to know what your joint surname would be, but Steve told them they’d have to wait a while for that.”

“Not too long, I hope?”, he teased.

“That’s not my choice, dear” she teased back “You’re the one making the arrangements, and now you have the money…”

“There he is,” Bucky cut in, smiling from ear to ear. “There’s my sunshine boy!”

Steve staggered into the living room with a pained expression.

Bucky’s smile deflated. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“It’s nothing”, Steve said, pecking Bucky on the cheek as he carefully lowered himself down on his dining chair. “Just another air raid.”

Bucky’s deflated expression turned thunderous. “What?”

“Oh, what a bother”, Sarah cut in, with a causal tone to her voice. “Where this time?”

“Parliament Street”, Steve replied in a similarly nonchalant manner. “No harm done really, just a few dozen mangled bicycle frames, but it did make me miss my usual bus. I had to haul myself over the other side of town to catch the one that leaves from Rougier Street. And now I’m absolutely exhausted.”

Steve glanced over at Bucky’s shocked expression and asked, “What’s up with you, honey?”

“What do you mean? What’s up with me?”, he gasped. “There was an air raid and you didn’t even think to tell me?”

Steve and Sarah exchanged looks. “Oh, they happen all the time”, Sarah explained. “There isn’t a day goes by that some bomber on its way back to Germany from a more strategic target dumps its spare payload somewhere around here. It’s only that the centre of York has groups of air raid patrol wardens stationed to spot them and set off the air raid sirens so you can get to a shelter.”

“Which is more than you can say for Vyner Street”, shrugged Steve.

The bitter almond scent of Alpha anxiety burst out of the collar of Bucky’s nice clean shirt in all directions.

“But…but why didn’t either of you think to tell me? I could have built us an air raid shelter in the back garden.”

Steve’s eyebrows hitched up a notch. “What? And dig up our vegetable patch?”

“Bugger the vegetables”, exclaimed Bucky. “The safety of my ‘pack’ is way more important than a bunch of carrots.”

“There’s no early warning system out here and the enemy bombers pass over far too quickly. How would we even know when it was time to get into the shelter?” reasoned Sarah, as kindly as she could. “Bucky, you have to be realistic here. God forbid it ever happened, but if an air raid ever reached Vyner Street, then we’d not hear the bombs drop until it was too late.”

Steve, who’d stayed surprisingly calm throughout the entire exchange, abruptly burst into tears.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry Stevie. I shouldn’t have started all this up. I didn’t want to scare ya, Baby. I just…”

“No…no, it’s not that”, Steve choked back a sob. “I know all about the bombs. They’re a risk we all have to take. I’m just…I’m just so damn tired after that long walk and my feet hurt and my back hurts and…”, Steve tried to continue but the rest of his sentence was strangled by a renewed round of weeping.

Bucky shook his head. “You shouldn’t be doing so much”, he said. “You’ve got to start taking much better care of yourself.”

“Oh, don’t fuss so”, Steve snapped back, before promptly bursting into tears again.

“Baby? Baby, what’s wrong now?”

“I…I don’t know anymore”, Steve confessed.

“Mood swings”, deadpanned Sarah. “They’re not unusual.”

“So, what do I do?” asked Bucky, his voice desperate.

“Well, what do your instincts tell you to do?”

“Comfort…and protect.”

“Then your instincts are spot on.”, said Sarah.

“What the…” exclaimed Becca as she sallied through the front door, pulling herself up at the scene. “Oh…he’s started having mood swings, huh?”

Bucky did a double-take. “How come you know what’s going on, sis?”

“Steve’s one of us now, Buckaroo”, Becca shrugged good-naturedly. “We understand him better than you do.”

“I’m sorry…I…I”, Steve burst back into tears again.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m here, I’m here for you. Just let it out.”

Becca watched her brother’s clumsy attempts to comfort Steve for a few moments, and then turned back to Sarah. “So, has he been using the new arm today?”

“All day outside. He hasn’t stopped.”

“Good. I push him hard at the hospital, but it’s great to see he pushes himself even harder. He should be ready for the airfield next week at this rate, I reckon. Now what’s for dinner?”

“Nothing much in the way of meat I’m afraid, but at least Bucky’s given us plenty of goodies from the vegetable patch.”

“Well, whatever we’re having is bound to be better than that hospital steak and kidney pie”, quipped Becca.

 


	26. Unveiling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we've finally reached the halfway point of the tale. I hope you'll find this 'unveiling' a fitting reward for Bucky in our twisty-turny wartime story!

 

“So, your first official day back, huh? How’s it feel?”

“Great!” grinned Bucky. “The arm’s got a very smooth action; I gotta say, you and your buddies in the hangars did a really terrific job, Beth.”

“I’ll take the compliment of course, but that’s not what I meant. What I mean is, how does it feel being back at Topcliffe?”

Senior engineer Beth Tanner had only been seconded from the Australian Royal Air Force a month ago, but already she’d garnered the trust of her fellow engineers. Noted for her empathy and supportiveness, the mature Beta lady had better people skills than the rest of her peers put together, making her their unofficial spokesperson for just about any kind of social interaction outside of the workshop.

Bucky sighed. “I have to be honest; it’s not easy seeing how quickly things have changed.”

“You mean the Lancasters?”

“And the modifications to the airfield to provide for them. This place don’t even look the same”, Bucky lamented.

“Do you have all the schematics on the Lancasters that you need?”

“Yes, Stark let me study those at home a few weeks back, once I’d started to get used to the arm, but…”

“You just don’t like the new aircraft, am I right?”

Bucky shrugged. “Just because something’s bigger and better on paper doesn’t mean it’s as responsive up in the air. The engines on these things are powerful all right, but there’s not much left in the way of maneuverability. I reckon they’ll be like driving a bus with wings.”

Beth looked away, avoiding meeting his eye. “I know you have…memories of the Halifax. My colleagues explained that. But…”, she looked back up at him. “There’s nothing any of us can do to turn back time. The Halifax was a beautifully engineered aircraft, but her time had come. We have to look to the future. Besides”, she added. “You never know, once you get one of these flying buses up in the air, they might just surprise you!”

Bucky appreciated Beth’s kindness, but he couldn’t help feeling he was betraying Clint’s memory by taking to the controls of a new bomber, especially one with a far greater payload of death in its belly. Stark had decided to pull him off combat duties permanently since he’d be training new intakes of pilots from all the Canadian squadrons in the area, but just because he wouldn’t be dropping the bombs himself didn’t make him feel any better about training other pilots to do so.

“C’mon”, Beth said, picking up the pace of their stroll across the airfield. “Stark’s reserved you a dedicated training aircraft. She was badly damaged on the return leg of a bombing run last month; pretty much lost her entire left wing, but she came back in one piece. The Halifax was a tough little aircraft, but I reckon this one’s even tougher.”

As they approached the hangar Beth was leading him towards, Bucky could see Stark in the distance, pacing up and down like an expectant father. Peggy was with him, and although Bucky was too far away to hear them, he was pretty sure she was teasing him within an inch of his life. It had always been her way, and even more so with people she really liked. And he knew Peggy really liked Stark, even though Stark persisted in his futile attempts to deny anything even faintly salacious was going on between them.

He was so intent on watching the two figures gesticulating to each other outside the hangar doors, that he only turned around when the runway tug slowed up by the side of him.

“Now what’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?”

“Stevie?”

Steve had perched himself up on the hood of the snub-nosed towing vehicle. Bucky helped him to slide off.

“You shouldn’t be doing that. It’s dangerous in your condition, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t have much of an option if I wanted to catch you up”, He waved his thanks to the driver, who returned a thumbs up as he steered the tug back towards the main runway.

“Why are you here anyway?”

Steve cocked an eyebrow. “Not pleased to see me, then?”

Sometimes Bucky wasn’t sure whether Steve learned how to tease from Peggy in their playground antics all those years ago, or if it had been the other way around, but one thing was sure. They were both seasoned campaigners in the dark art.

“Oh, Stevie. You sure know to make a fellah blush.”

“I should jolly well hope so. But to answer your question”, Steve continued. “Stark said you were going to try flying the new bomber this morning, so naturally I wanted to be here to see it”

“No pressure then”, murmured Bucky.

By the time they entered the hangar, Stark had adopted a more businesslike manner, belied by Peggy’s amused expression.

“Okay, well erm…thank you for all coming” Stark began.

“As if we had any say in the matter”, smirked Peggy.

Stark tried to ignore her faintly seditious comment and continued.

“As you know, this Lancaster was the first one delivered to us, and the damage sustained to it over Belgium was so extensive that we didn’t think it was repairable. However, the engineers have done a sterling job bringing her back to life.”

Beth blushed demurely at Stark’s indirect reference to her efforts.

“Given her structural condition”, the Squadron leader continued. “We’ve decided to retire her from active duty and reserve her as our training aircraft, but now that she has a new role, the crews thought it would be fitting that we provided her with a new name.”

Bucky looked to the side of the ominous looking Lancaster parked behind them. He must have been dreaming before because he’d not even noticed the canopy of white silk parachute material artfully draped over the nose of the aircraft. Well, he was either dreaming or he was too distracted by the joyfully distracting sensation of Steve’s finger stroking his palm as he held his Omega boy’s hand.

“As a joint project between the engineers at Topcliffe and Pocklington, I thought it appropriate to invite Officer Carter of the RAF to unveil her.”

“Or at least a good excuse to invite her over here for a little light flirting”, whispered Bucky into Steve’s ear.

Peggy grinned as she sashayed over to the canopy “It is with considerable pride” she announced regally, “That I name this aircraft after an old school friend.”

She pulled down the cover. Bucky gasped.

There, spelt out in letters a foot tall were the words ‘SUNSHINE BOY’, with a tasteful cartoon image of a figure bearing an uncanny resemblance to a certain blond Omega in the audience

“But…but you can’t give an aircraft a male name”, sputtered Steve.

“That’s not…entirely true”, said Peggy. After you mentioned that when Bucky was getting his new arm, I did some research. It seems several non-combat military aircraft have Omega boy’s names, and since 'Sunshine Boy' is a non-combat aircraft now …” her words drifted off to allow Steve to figure the rest of it out for himself.

“How does it feel, to know I’ll be inside you all day, baby”, murmured Bucky suggestively.

Steve answered by slapping him on the thigh. “Mind that course tongue of yours, Barnes!”, he huffed. “Besides, you’ve been constantly inside me for months”, he added, pointing to his baby bulge.

Bucky couldn’t help but crack out a proud smile at that.

“Well, I’m hoping this will put you off your aversion to flying Lancasters at least”, said Beth.

“There’s no doubt of that”, Bucky answered, pressing a gentle kiss to his fiancé’s cheek.

Bucky’s first flight was a little shaky. He was nervous with so many eyes trained on him, but Beth had been right; once he was up in the air, he was able to appreciate the extra power his ‘Sunshine Boy’ had, and although she (he couldn’t possibly change the pronoun for fear of ill-fate) didn’t have the same ‘turn on a dime’ maneuverability of the Halifax - her sheer size made those kind of aeronautics impractical – ‘Sunshine Boy’ was the perfect compromise between the compact feistiness of the Halifax and the effortless grace of the B17s he’d been trained on at home. Rather like his own sunshine boy, the Lancaster packed a tremendous punch and could put on one hell of a show. Her Rolls Royce engine signature echoed the deep thrum of ‘Lady Luck’s’ heartbeat, reminding him - lest he ever forget - that this ‘Sunshine Boy’ was as British as the real one watching his maiden flight from the runway.

 

(A contemporary Lancaster bomber similar to 'Sunshine boy'. Note the Maple leaf detail on the wings and fuselage proudly designating this bomber as a Royal Canadian Air Force aircraft).

 

 

“You like watching me fly, Stevie?”

“I could do that all day”, Steve sighed, squeezing himself into Bucky’s side.

“How did the arm perform?” asked Beth.

“Absolutely fine. Just enough torque to adjust all the controls perfectly.”

“So, she’s not just a flying bus to you anymore?”

“Nope, I was dead wrong about that. She’s a real tiger, just like the boy she’s named after”, Bucky grinned. “Getting back to Stevie was the real mission of each and every one of my bombing runs, and now I’m literally going to be flying my mission every day!”

 

-*-

“Surprise!”

Sarah gave her sister a long-suffering look from the doorstep. “I’m glad to say it isn’t a surprise at all. If you’d turned up with that great pantechnicon unannounced, I’d have been turning you away. Have you really got that much furniture?”

Nat shrugged. “In all honesty, no, but the boy’s bedframe was so wide I had to hire a bigger van than I’d planned. Still it’ll be worth it in the end; it doesn’t make a single squeak!”

Steve, who’d been silently standing beside his mother in the hallway, blushed so deeply, he was sure even his baby bump had reddened.

“And how’s my little maternity suite doing?”

By now, Bucky was near enough to hear that observation, and burst out laughing. “Afternoon, Nat”, he called from the stairs.

“Ah, the gang’s all here I see. Do you think you’d be able to give the van driver a hand with the furniture? There’s a dear.”

“Yes ma’am!” Bucky smiled, bounding out of the door. “It’ll give my arm a workout.”

“I still do a double-take every time I see that shiny metal arm”, confessed Sarah as Bucky strode down the path and through the front gate.

“It’s the future” said Nat “You remember watching that Metropolis film with me at the pictures in…when was that now?”

“1927 I think”, said Sarah.

“That sounds about right. That was all about a robot woman. Now we’re getting a robot son-in-law.”

“I can assure you that you’re not getting a robot baby though”, sniffed Steve. Formula milk might not be on the ration book, but I’m pretty sure that motor-oil is.”

“Well, I hear you’ve turned into a machine yourself, nephew of mine”, teased Nat.

“If you’re referring to Bucky’s sunshine bomber, I’d like to get all sniffy and say it’s in poor taste. But secretly I’m flattered. Don’t tell him that though”, he continued, in a stage whisper.

“Your secret is safe with me”, Nat winked. “At least you know that Bucky won’t be flying over Europe dropping bombs with your namesake.”

“No, that’s the one saving grace in all of this”, admitted Steve. “Stark’s made it very clear that he’s the pilot trainer from now on, and combat operations are strictly off the menu, unless he requests them himself. And let’s face it, he’s hardly like to do that after…well…you know.”

The sisters nodded in unison. Bucky may have largely recovered from the trauma of the ‘Lady Luck’ incident, but sending him on operational missions was a risk he’d rather his fiancé didn’t have to take. Besides, should the Americans ever come to check up on him, he’d be safer from recall in the position of a valuable flight trainer than just another expendable bomber pilot.

Bucky popped his head out of the back of the van and shouted “Stevie, come and take a look at this!”

“He sounds excitable all of a sudden”, said Steve. “Did you pack him a jar of coffee or something?”

“Or something”, deadpanned Nat. “I can’t imagine there’s a single jar of coffee left in the whole city”

“Not after he drained Topcliffe dry”, agreed Steve as he stumbled unsteadily up the removal ramp.

His jaw dropped.

“Nat!”, Steve yelled out “I can’t believe it. I thought this was one of the pub fixtures.”

“Yes, so did I”, she confessed, joining them. “But it wasn’t on the inventory and the new owners said they didn’t want it anymore, so I was hoping you could squeeze it into the living room.”

Bucky stretched to slide his hand over the polished mahogany top of the old beat-up pub piano, hidden towards at the back of the removal van, thinking of the “Gin and It” he’d placed there, waiting patiently for Steve’s song to end, in his tentative courtship with his wonderful sunshine boy.

“You’ll be able to play just for me, now Stevie”, he grinned.

“Just for us”, said Sarah. “If I’m not in the audience, then I won’t give your smelly old piano house-room.”

“You’re right enough there”, agreed Nat. “It’s absorbed a lot of pipe-smoke and beer-stains in its long life. If you’d rather not have it…”

“Nonsense! It’s nothing a little bees-wax and a lot of elbow-grease won’t shift”, Sarah reasoned. “And I just happen to know someone who’s looking to exercise his shiny metal elbow right now.”

Bucky opened the piano stool and his grin widened still further. “You’ve even saved the sheet music so my sunshine boy can sing his song for us.”

“That was the most important part. Even if I’d had to leave the piano there, I’d have saved the music for you.”

All in all, Nat’s furniture accommodated itself nicely into the confines of Vyner Street. The piano was indeed a bit of a squeeze, but it was worth it for the sing-along Steve performed for them that evening. Old Mrs.Potts was nearly deaf, so there was no objection to the four of them belting out Steve’s sunshine song until their throats were hoarse.

Nor was Nat’s furniture the only gift she brought with her. Together, the two sisters completed each other’s scents which, combined with Steve’s Omega tang, gave Bucky’s Vyner Street ‘pack’ a distinctive scent-signature that made his heart swell with Alpha pride.

That night, Steve snuggled into Bucky’s arms in the perfect bliss of their beautiful new brass bed.

“It’s like being on a cloud” Steve cooed. “I’m sure baby’s appreciating it. She’s nice and calm in my tummy tonight.”

“Since when did our baby become a she?”

“Since you started flying a female sunshine boy in the skies of York”, quipped Steve. “In your line of business it’s a case of, if in doubt, call it a she. And two can play at that game, Bucky Barnes.”

“Well. It’s a fifty-fifty chance, so why not? Bucky shrugged. I’m not fussy about the gender of our baby; only that baby and baby-daddy are happy and healthy.”

Steve mewled a little, a sound that sent Bucky’s pulse racing, and snuggled even deeper into his embrace, unashamedly scenting the sweet patch of hair in Bucky’s chest. Omega arousal accentuated Steve’s natural maternity scent, driving Bucky wild.

“Oh baby, I love it when you do that”, he growled “It brings out the animal in me.”

“Your animal isn’t buried too deep, Buck.”

He snorted. “Makes me wish I could go into rut and give you my mating bite so bad…but I can’t risk the baby now, you’re getting way too big sweetheart.”

“I know”, Steve said, sadly.

Bucky stroked Steve’s sunshine hair and thought about the future for the hundredth time. The mating bite would have to wait, but if he was safe at Topcliffe, he could marry his sunshine boy and be happy, assuming he was allowed to stay there, that is.

“So, what do you think of my wicker basket idea?” joked Steve, bursting Bucky’s bubble of burgeoning anxiety.

All of Nat’s gifts had been useful and very well received, not least her permanent presence at Vyner Street to help look after her growing nephew. But a tall wicker basket, originally used as a container for customer’s umbrellas and walking sticks, initially proved something of a challenge to accommodate in their home now it was empty. That was until Steve dragged it upstairs into their bedroom, and attached a label for it, marked “Spare boy-parts”. His leg braces and Bucky’s left arm now stood to attention within its confines like some kind of bizarre metallic sculpture.

Bucky shook his head and he eyed the contemporary art work. “To use your favourite Yorkshire phrase, I think you’re as daft as a brush, Steven Grant Rogers.”

“But you love me anyway, so that’s all right.”

“To the end of the line, baby.”

-*- 

 

“Take a memo please, Mr. Rogers?”

Steve cocked an eyebrow at his boss. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Stark to use Steve’s surname, but his tone was unusually formal; officious even. It made Steve suspicious. Easing himself onto the chair opposite the Squadron Leader’s desk, he flipped open his writing pad in preparation.

 

_To: Brigadier General Thaddeus Ross, US Air Force_

_From: Squadron Leader Anthony Stark, Royal Canadian Air Force_

 

_Sir,_

_As previous outlined in our telephone conversation of Monday 28th September, I am pleased to confirm our preparedness to welcome Colonel Fury and Major Pierce to RAF Topcliffe in order to carry out their capability assessment of Senior Airman Barnes on Monday 12th October 1942. I will ensure that your serviceman is not informed in advance of this assessment by any military ranks on the airbase._

 

 _“I remain, yours etcetera”_ , concluded Stark. “Get that typed up and make sure it’s marked private and confidential with a first class stamp ready for this afternoon’s postal collection, please.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Er…sir?” he gulped. “Why are you asking _me_ to do this?”

“What’s wrong”, deadpanned Stark. “Can’t I ask my secretary to type up a simple letter?”

“But, the contents, sir…”

“Are confidential”, confirmed Stark. “It’s all down there in black and white. No-one of military rank at Topcliffe may disclose this information to Senior Airman Barnes, on pain of Court Martial. Do I make myself absolutely clear?”

“You appreciate I’m not of military rank sir?”

“No, you’re officially classed as ‘military personnel’, I do believe.”

“But I’m still a civilian sir. I don’t hold any military rank.”

“And my letter said that no-one of military rank could disclose that information to Barnes, didn’t it. With hindsight that was…an unfortunate oversight on my part wouldn’t you agree?”

“So… if I were to disclose this information to my fiancé?”

“It would constitute a very unprofessional act. And I would be most disappointed in you, Mr. Rogers”, Stark concluded, in a tone that inferred the exact opposite.

Steve smiled broadly. “Well, thank you in advance for the unofficial notification and – when it comes - the official reprimand, sir”, he said. “Please be assured that I’ll take care of the duties you have assigned me with the greatest level of diligence.”

 


	27. Assessment

 

“It’s strange to see the ‘Royal Oak’ knowing that Nat’s no longer in charge of it”, said Steve as they passed through the Goodramgate snickelway (the local term for alley) into Holy Trinity churchyard. 

Alone in the little private courtyard, they laid their floral tributes; first at Clint’s official Royal Canadian Air Force gravestone with its soaring eagle surmounted by a Royal Crown, and then – only a few feet away from the war grave plots - at Steve’s beloved grandmother’s grave.

“Thanks for...coming with me”, murmured Bucky hesitantly. “It’s the first time I’ve felt strong enough to visit Clint. I miss my buddy a…a heck of a lot”

Steve sneaked a quick peck to Bucky cheek. “Clint cared for you very much, you know.”

Bucky nodded. “But do you think he’d be happy spending an eternity here?”

“I feel sure he’d get a big thrill out of knowing he was so close to a decent alehouse” said Steve.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Even without Nat in charge?”

“Landladies come and go” said Steve, philosophically “But the ‘Royal Oak’ will stay standing long after we’ve joined our friends and relatives in this churchyard.”

Bucky turned to Steve’s family grave. “Your grandma Rose. Do you think she’d have approved of me?”

“I know she would, honey. You fulfilled her dream, by granting me the family I never thought I’d ever have. You gave me the gender, and then you gave me the baby. That was a miracle.”

“So, you’ve forgiven me for all of that?”

Steve’s wistful expression dissolved in an instant. “Oh, Bucky, of course I have, you big handsome adorable man.” He grinned, pecking a second kiss to Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky’s heart leapt in his chest. Sometimes he couldn’t quite believe how lucky he was to have his sweet sunshine boy in his life For the first time in weeks, he hadn’t worn his metal arm, in case he crushed the flowers in its vice-like grip, but now he wished he’d done it anyway just so he could fold Steve in a proper embrace right now. As he was considering that, Steve interrupted his thoughts.

“I’ve been thinking about something.”

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“I’m just joking, calling our baby a “she”, because of course we don’t know. But, if our baby is actually a “she”, can we name her ‘Rose’ after my grandma?”

Bucky placed his arm around Steve’s shoulder. “Of course, we can, baby. I think that’s a real nice name. I’d be proud to be the Papa of a Baby ‘Rose’.”

“She’d be our Rosebud”, cooed Steve.

A tear trickled down Bucky’s cheek. “That’s beautiful.”

Unknown to them as Bucky threaded his arm through Steve’s, a pair of luminous green eyes now lay heavy upon them both.

“C’mon, it’s time I gave my Rose mommy a treat”, Bucky said, leading them out of the churchyard.

“Mmmm…this fish just tastes better and better” said Steve, as they sat on their favourite bench by the river “I didn’t think you’d keep on treating me once you’d had your wicked way with me, you bad man.” he giggled.

“The way to an Omega’s heart”, grinned Bucky. “Anyway, I’m quite partial to fish and chips myself now.”

“Are they better than hot dogs and hamburgers and milkshakes?”

“Ha! Trying to get me to betray my own country’s cuisine, are we?”

“The thought had occurred to me.”

Bucky snorted. “Sweetheart, I love you so much, I’d entertain any thought in your head, but you’ll think different once you’ve tried your milkshake.”

Steve pursed his lips. “You’ll entertain any thought in my head, eh?”

“Sure, whatever you say is a joy to me, Stevie. You know that.”

He was going to wait until they were back at Topcliffe together, but Bucky was in such a good mood, and he’d practically invited the revelation. So, Steve took a very deep breath, and repeated the content of Stark’s memo to him.

 

-*-

“Damn, why didn’t Stark tell me this before?”

“He’s telling you now, in a round-about way.”

“But there’s not enough time, I need to…”

Steve placed a finger on Bucky’s lips “Shhh…there’s nothing more you need to do that you’ve not done already.”

The torn expression on Bucky’s face was heart-breaking. Steve wanted to kiss it right off him, but he instinctively knew that his fiancé wouldn’t want that. He was nervous, and he’d every right to be. The US Air Force sent ‘assessors’ all around the country to ‘investigate’ anomalies, and – by all accounts - their methods weren’t exactly compassionate or even particularly humane.

“You don’t know what they’re capable of, sweetheart.”

“I think I have a fairly good understanding of what human beings are capable of; same as you.”

Bucky barked out a short, hollow laugh. “Some really bad things have happened to you, I won’t deny it. And you’re so damn brave, Stevie. But you always think things through and find a way to help me understand how I’m feeling. These people won’t do that. They’re here to catch me out. Period.”

“You can’t know that for certain.”

“Look, they have to deal with a lot of bad situations. Their attitude is as suspicious as any other kind of military police.”

“I suspect their reputation is over-exaggerated, honey. You’ve every right to be anxious, but don’t meet your fears halfway. You’re imagining the death-grip of a tiger when they might be sending you a pussycat like Spitfire.”

Bucky swallowed. Steve missed the plump old calico from the Royal Oak. Bucky noticed he peppered his conversations with mentions of Spitfire on a regular basis, but Nat didn’t own the cat; in truth no-one did, but he’d clearly chosen to remain a ‘guest’ at the pub with its seemingly endless supply of mice to hunt. For now though, pet speculation was hardly his highest priority.

“I don’t know, baby”, Bucky said. “I hear things, especially from London.”

“Well, a lot of funny things happen down there”, shrugged Steve. “But they can’t possibly affect us in York. London’s well over a hundred miles away.”

Bucky snorted in amusement. “You know the difference between an American and an Englishman, Stevie?”

“I don’t think the list would be all that long, but I get the feeling you're reaching for a punchline.

Bucky nodded “The difference between an American and an Englishman is that an American thinks a hundred years is a long time, and an Englishman thinks a hundred miles is a long way.”

“But a hundred miles IS a long way”, Steve protested hotly.

Bucky broke into a deeply indulgent smile. You could take Steve Rogers out of England, but you’d never take England out of Steve Rogers.

“So, tell me then, what do you hear from London?”, Steve asked.

“Well, for a start, the army are bringing over black regiments.”

Steve furrowed his brow. “And, that’s…difficult somehow?”

Bucky inwardly groaned. How did he explain American race relations to a man who’d never seen a black person in his entire life, beyond line-drawn picture books of exotic places in the British Empire from his schooldays?

“In…some parts of my country, black people live separately from white people, and that’s not very good”, explained Bucky “It means black people and white people don’t understand each other well and when they disagree it can get very ugly. These ‘assessors’ have to deal with what happens afterwards.”

“That sounds an awful lot like breaking up a playground fight.”

“Well it’s not. There have been stabbings, shootings even. People have died on the streets of London”

Steve gasped in horror.

“Yeah”, confirmed Bucky. “Well, they have to sort out things like that. So, I can’t blame them for being hard, but they’re gonna apply the same mind-set to me, Stevie.”

“But you haven’t’ killed anyone!”

Bucky cocked his head and shot his fiancé an questioning look.

“Well, not…not in that way”, Steve added, soberly.

Bucky's heart ached to hurt Steve. Of course, he knew what Steve meant. They barely needed to shorthand the moral irony of aerial warfare anymore, and certainly not to score points off each other in an argument that neither of them could possibly win. Steve’s heart was in the right place; he desperately wanted to reassure, and Bucky desperately craved reassurance, but his sunshine boy was offering up hopeful prayers as a shield against bullets. And, just like his intimate little prayers at the bedside, they conjured up a gentle English view of the world so child-like; it felt a crime for him to expose Steve to the grim harshness of this new reality.

"I guess we won't know what’s gonna happen until it happens”, Bucky shrugged, swallowing down his fears.

“Honey, I’ll be with you every step of the way”, soothed Steve. “And Stark wouldn’t have agreed to this unless he thought you were ready. He has faith in you, I have faith in you, won’t you please have a little faith in yourself?”

There it was, stated and plainly and simply. In a strange way, that made things better in Bucky’s mind. Couched though it was in the bows and ribbons of overelaborate British sentiment, his Alpha instincts recognised it immediately for what it was; a challenge. And Bucky never ran away from a challenge.

He kissed his fiancé’s faintly batter-scented palm in contented silence; no words could follow that.

But something else was following them. The shadowy figure that had spotted Steve and Bucky in the churchyard, was stealthily tailing them home.

 

-*-

“Oh my, we have guests to tea!” cried Steve.

Sandwiched between his mother and aunt, Peggy peered over from her place at the dining table and flashed the boys a smile.

“Why didn’t you stuff her in the parlour on that horse-hair mattress”, grumbled Bucky.

“It’s my horse-hair mattress and I’ll inflict it on anyone I choose”, scolded Sarah in tones of mock-outrage. “Tread softly, Bucky Barnes, or I’ll be sending you out to sleep on it.”

Bucky affected a gasp of such melodramatic horror that Nat nearly spat out a sipful of tea.

“So, to what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?” asked Steve, easing himself onto the adjacent chair as Sarah poured him a fresh cup.

“Surely I can visit my old school friend whenever I want?”

“Absolutely, but if I’d known you were coming, I wouldn’t have stayed out so long.”

“Coming in here, positively reeking of cod and chips.”, Peggy sniffed.

“You’re only jealous, Peg”, said Steve.

“Too bloody right I am. No-one ever buys me fish and chips.”

“Not even a certain Squadron Leader?”

“Oh, yes…well…that’s all very sub-rosa don’t you know.”

“You could have fooled me”, laughed Bucky.

“Shouldn’t you be doing something else, Bucky Barnes?” said Peggy. “Far away from here?”

“Now you come to mention it, I could do with exercising my metal arm out in the vegetable patch. After what Steve’s just told me…” He narrowed his eyes “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about some assessors from the US Air Force paying Topcliffe a visit?”

“Couldn’t possibly comment. Loose lips sink ships”, quipped Peggy.

“I don’t fly a ship”

“You could have fooled me, the size of those bombers. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were compensating for something.”

“Then what does that say about a certain Squadron Leader in charge of all them?”

“There’s a spade out there with your name on it”, Peggy smirked.

“Okay, okay. I can see I’m going to get no sense out of you today”, grumbled Bucky, heading upstairs to rummage in the “spares” basket for his arm.

“You really don’t know anything?” Steve asked Peggy, once Bucky had bounded up the staircase.

“Only as much as you do. I did check to see if the names of the US officers in the memo were on any of our files, but I wasn’t surprised to see there wasn’t a shred of paperwork. Any enquiries beyond that would merely have alerted the Americans, and the last thing I’d want to do when your fiancé’s future is on the line, is raise the suspicions of the very people carrying out the investigation”

“Very sensible. Thank you, Peggy.”

“What’s sensible?”, asked Bucky, as he returned, squeezing past Steve and the ladies in his undershirt.

“I wouldn’t know” murmured Steve distractedly. “I’ve just lost my thread.” He stared unabashed at Bucky’s chest like he was going to dive into the thicket of hair barely concealed by the plunging neckline of Bucky’s vest. When Steve’s aroused pheromones hit his nostrils, Bucky’s Alpha senses went into overdrive.

“Damn, baby”, Bucky growled “How’m I gonna dig the garden when I can barely stand?”

The three ladies joined Steve in redirecting their stares southwards.

“Oh my”, exclaimed Peggy. “I take back what I said about you compensating for something. Clearly you don’t need to.”

Nat cackled with glee. “I thought I’d miss out on all the lewd pub talk when I moved to Vyner Street. It seems I needn’t have worried.”

Bucky shook his head. “I swear it’s that damn tea. It turns all you Britishers insane.”

Still, the good-natured teasing had the desired effect. Bucky’s ardour cooled just long enough for him to reach the kitchen door and escape into the fresh air of the back garden.

“You know, if he drank more tea, he might get used to it”, said Sarah.

“Used to us four flirting with him, you mean?”, teased Nat.

“Goodness no; no Alpha gets used to that!”

“Well, since he’s going to need some cool refreshment when he’s finished out there, I brought you something out of my store cupboard”, said Peggy.

She handed a bottle of Camp coffee over to Sarah.

“That’s lovely. What a thoughtful gift; we’d nearly run out. He only drinks it when he’s desperate of course, but he gets desperate enough most evenings.”

“Don’t I know it”, murmured Steve dreamily.

“And you’re as bad as he is”, said Nat elbowing Steve in the ribs. “You’re losing your thread, dear Nephew, quite literally. I went through one of the suitcases I brought over with me this morning and found a pack of spare knitting needles. Perhaps you should join the two of us of an evening. It’d give you something more creative and less carnal to do with your hands!”

“That’s a really good idea, Auntie Nat”, nodded Steve. “But I’ve not read a knitting pattern in years, so I might need some help from you to begin with.”

“You were a natural when you were younger”, Sarah observed. “I’m sure it won’t take you long for you to get back into it. I would say it’s just like riding a bike, but bearing in mind what happened to our intrepid gardener out there with next door’s bicycle.”

“If memory serves, I wasn’t a natural knitter so much as a natural wool-winder.” Steve said. “It’s amazing how versatile metal legs can…”  Steve stopped mid-sentence when he saw Sarah staring out of the window. “What have you spotted. Mum?”

“Beyond the sycamore tree”, she said. “Just under the rhododendron bush. Do you see?”

Steve and the ladies squinted into the distance and spotted two luminous green eyes peeking out from under the shrubbery.

“Isn’t that?”

“No. It…it can’t be.”

Nat scrambled to her feet and charged out into the garden, nearly scaring the wits out of Bucky, whose attentions were directed towards the ripening marrow in his makeshift cold frame.

“Puss?”, she cried. “Puss, is that you?”

With a deep velveteen meow, Spitfire leapt out of the bushes and gamboled towards his ‘owner’.

“Oh, puss, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!”

Despite his feigned aversion to human affection, Spitfire wound his way through Nat’s legs in a figure of eight pattern and purred with obvious contentment. After a minute or so of human contact, he bounded off again into the undergrowth.

“How the devil did he get here, do you think?” asked Sarah, once Nat had rejoined the party.

“I wonder if he followed us home”, said Steve. “Me and Bucky were outside Holy Trinity church earlier this morning. The churchyard always was a prime hunting ground for him.”

“And the smell of fish and chips wouldn’t have harmed either”, noted Peggy.

“Yes, but why would he come back here?”, asked Nat “He’s got much greater hunting opportunities around Goodramgate”

“Maybe he misses you?” Sarah suggested.

“Hardly. Spitfire’s never exactly been a cuddle cat.”

“You could have fooled me; the way he snaked his way around your feet out there”, said Peggy.

“He was off like a shot soon afterwards though. I think there’s another reason”, said Nat. “He can probably sense Steve’s pregnancy, and good old Spitfire’s never shied away from a fight.”

“That’s true enough”, Sarah admitted. “But who’s he meant to be fighting? Steve’s safe enough here.”

Nat arched an eyebrow cryptically “Things we don’t know about yet. Mysterious things, most likely. Animals have a sixth sense about these things.”

“Now you’re just being superstitious, Sis. You always were the gullible one”

“Well, Bucky just agreed with me.”

“And didn’t they have witch trials in America?”

“They had them here too”, said Nat. “Anyhow, don’t mock the mysterious and the unknown, Sis. I can read tea leaves with the best of ‘em.”

Sarah laughed indulgently and shook her head in disbelief.

“Well”, Nat sighed, “I’ll have to see if I can tempt him out later and put him back into my wicker basket. I suppose he really needs to go back to the pub where he belongs.”

Peggy continued to glance out of the window.

“He’ll be long gone by now”, noted Nat.

“Oh, it’s not that”, said Peggy. “I was just looking at the marrow that Bucky’s tending. It looks almost ripe.”

“In another week or so,” said Steve.

“You know what’s coming up, don’t you?”

“Apart from Bucky’s interview you mean?”

Peggy nodded. “There’s an American holiday at the end of that month”

“Seems a funny time to take a holiday, unless their weather is a lot better than ours at this time of year”

“No, it’s a kind of celebration. I don’t know a lot about it. Tony…ahem…”

“Call him Tony if you like”, said Sarah. “We’re all friends here.”

Peggy blushed. “Well, Tony says it’s something to do with early colonists thanking the Indians who lived there before they came over for giving them food when they didn’t have enough.”

“Sounds a lot like what Bucky’s been doing for us”, mused Steve.

“Anyway, apparently to celebrate they eat turkeys and pumpkins.”

“Good luck finding either of those around here”, huffed Nat.

“We’ve not had a Christmas turkey since ‘38”, Sarah agreed. “And aside from fairytales, I don’t know anything about pumpkins at all.”

“They don’t grow here apparently”, said Peggy. “But they’re a kind of big vegetable, a bit like…well, a bit like a marrow.”

“Oh”, grinned Sarah. “Now I can see where this conversation is going. But to cook a marrow you need to stuff it with mince, and mince rations aren’t exactly up to stuffing anything as enormous as what Bucky has out there.”

“Oh mercy…I’ve come over all available”, quavered Steve melodramatically.

Peggy groaned. “Hand that man a pair of knitting needles, right now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ADVANCE WARNING: The next chapter will depict a failed attempt at a sexual assault in mainly non-graphic terms. If you find such scenes triggering, then I would urge you to please consider skipping Chapter 28, as the rest of the story can be understood without needing to read this chapter. I will also post a warning at the beginning of the chapter as a reminder.


	28. Assault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: PLEASE READ.  
> As indicated previously, this chapter features the description of a sexual assault. Whilst the incident is short and the tone is non-graphic for the most part, it is not my place, nor the place of any author to judge the effect of such a episode on their readers. As such, I would strongly recommend that readers who feel they may be triggered by such a description avoid reading this chapter and begin again from Chapter 29, since the story can be understood and enjoyed without necessarily having to read this chapter.

 

“Just a little more to the right”

Bucky stuck his tongue out to the side. His sister knew from painful experience that he only ever did that when he was really struggling.

“That’s…it! Well done, Buckaroo.”

“I’m not sure these assessors will be checking my ability to neatly decapitate hard boiled eggs, but if they are, I’m sure they’d agree I’m doing an absolutely cracking job.”

“I see your puns don’t get any better with age”, Becca groaned.

“So, where’s this reward for my efforts that you were telling me about?”

She handed him a spoon.

“Ah, I see. Well, waste not, want not.”

“I tried getting some bread to make you soldiers but apparently I’ve used up my ration for this week.”

“There is a war on, you know,” shrugged Bucky.

“Sheesh, enough with the English phrases. You stay in Vyner Street much longer and you’ll be drinking the tea.”

“Never!” he declared defiantly.

“Patriotic fervour?”

“Sheer distaste.”

“I hate to say this, Buckaroo, but I’m kind of getting used to tea.”

“Defector!”

“Hey now, you said it wasn’t patriotic fervour?”

“Maybe I lied”, he shrugged.

“And maybe you need reminding that you’re the one sleeping with a redcoat”, she quipped.

“Ha! This is York, not Yorktown, and my Stevie isn’t the sort to ever get involved in a war.”

“I think you’ll find we’re already involved in a war”, Becca observed wryly. “Besides that fiancé of yours has one heck of a temper on him. I think he’d shoot you rebel hide as soon as look at you.”

“And I bet you’d wanna be in the front row to watch that happen.”

“There are times I’d pay top dollar to see that, like when you’re being a pain in the ass…”, she mused. “But enough of my fantasies, let’s get back to business.”

Bucky groaned.

“Granted, egg slicing won’t be high on the assessment list, but you’ve really improved your precision in recent weeks. I think you’re just about ready for anything. Have you heard any indications about what these people are gonna ask you to do?”

“I asked Stark and I honestly believe him when he says he hasn’t a clue. No doubt they’ll want to see me take to the sky in ‘Sunshine Boy’, and carry out a few fancy manoeuvres, but beyond that, your guess is as good as mine.”

“Then the true test probably won’t be in the strength of your arm, it’ll be in the strength of your resolve.”

“Huh?”

“They’ll probably get all psychological on you, questioning your motives and your commitment, things like that. It wouldn’t surprise me if our bit of patriotic banter over the egg didn’t turn out to be better training than actually taking the top off of it.”

“You think they’ll try to goad me?”

“Well, If I was them, that’d be my play. I’d make you madder than hell and make a note of everything you swore back to me.”

“Interesting.”

“Will they be interviewing Steve?”

“I don’t know. Possibly.”

“Well if you can, try and keep yourself separate from him. If you start scenting fear, anxiety or maternal pheromones, you’ll find it difficult to keep yourself level-headed. And not being joined at the hip will mean they don’t think you’re dependent on him, or vice-versa.”

“But I am dependent on him.”

Bucky said that without even thinking. The instant he did though, he knew it to be true.

“And that’s a great and wonderful thing, Buckaroo. Having that kind of deep relationship is a blessing and honestly, I’m happy for you. But that blessing could be turned against you. For a few hours at least, you gotta be Senior Airman Barnes, and no-one and nothing else”

Bucky nodded. “That’s sound advice. It won’t be easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is. Thanks, Sis, I owe you a hot dog.”

Becca rolled her eyes. “Talk about things that won’t be easy. The only place you’ll get me a hot dog is back in Brooklyn.”

 

-*-

Where in the hell is he?” asked Bucky, irritably.

“Fair dinkum, I haven’t a clue, mate”, shrugged Beth, her voice echoing from under a partly disassembled propeller shaft. “All I know is Stark’s lair is out of bounds, and has been since yesterday.”

“Surely he doesn’t need that long to prepare for our visitors?”

“It’s all a bit of a mystery really”, Beth answered. “Some of the mechanics heard sawing and drilling coming from over there. When Peggy came over earlier this morning, she told me Stark had cracked the mirror in his office.”

“What happened? Did he look in it?”

“I was waiting for that comment”, Beth grinned, sliding out from beneath the engine to select a monkey-wrench from her toolkit. “I guess the cracked mirror unnerved him, you know how suspicious these fly-boys can be. Anyhow, when Stark lifted it off the wall, he saw this bloody great hole it had been covering up for years and went crazy, screaming that the place was a shambles and how he couldn’t have visitors coming in to a disgrace like that.”

“I get it”, said Bucky. “I get that he’s nervous. Believe me, I sympathise. But wouldn’t it have been simpler just to put another mirror in its place?”

“That’s exactly what he tried to do. Rumour has it that Peggy found him a bigger mirror from goodness knows where, but he told her he’d have damaged the wall even further if he’d tried putting up something that heavy. I don’t know why he’s even bothering himself. Why couldn’t he have just plugged the hole with something big ‘n lightweight like a map for the time being?”

Bucky smiled to himself. Stark had no use for a mirror whatsoever, but ever since the pregnancy, Steve had started pausing between his office chores and checking himself out in it. He wasn’t in the least bit vain, but Bucky liked the idea of his fiancé looking at the changes in his face and body as he grew. It was comforting for him. He guessed Stark had seen him doing the same thing and didn’t want to deprive Steve of his reflection, hence all that effort to repair a whole wall just for a mirror. It was so like Stark to think more of other people’s needs in general, and of his Stevie’s needs in particular. Speaking of which…

“And where in the hell is Steve?”

“Like I said; not a clue, mate. Our glorious leader isn’t letting anyone in, so I can only guess Steve’s been banned from Stark’s presence too. Can you think of anywhere he might have been exiled to?”

“There’s the little hut Clint made up for us with the bed in it.”

“You checked there?”

“First place I looked”, said Bucky “But no joy. To be honest I didn’t think he’d be sent somewhere associated with…well, shall we just say ‘non-work’ activities?”

Beth snorted. “Well, what about the control tower?”

“That’s not a bad suggestion. I’ll go check that…”

Bucky looked out of the hangar doors to see Steve walking towards him.

“Stevie!”

The engineer gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder just before he ran off to his fiancé. “Anyway. Good luck for today. I’ve given ‘Sunshine boy’ an extra special tune-up. She’s purring like a kitten.”

“Thanks Beth.”

Steve had dressed for the part in one of Clint’s old suits that he hadn’t taken to the tailors for alteration as yet. The result was that Clint’s trousers fitted him perfectly with the baby bulge, but his jacket flapped about a bit. Bucky noted, with a little thrill, that Steve was wearing one of his ties, specifically Bucky’s lucky one. He would have worn it himself, except that he couldn’t, as it wasn’t part of his US Air Force uniform, so having Steve wear it was the next best thing.

“Looking good, Rogers.”

Steve blushed adorably, leaking maternal pheromones.

Bucky took this last opportunity to scent. Once the assessors had arrived, he’d need to take Becca’s advice and put some distance between them.

“So, where’ve you been all day”, Bucky asked as they walked on.

“Mostly with Stark.”

“But isn’t he in the hut, screaming at people?”

Steve giggled. “He was, but your intelligence is an hour or so out of date. That’s all done now. Peggy’s donated us a lovely new full-length mirror.”

“Did he get a coffee machine whilst he was at it?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Even if he had, we wouldn’t have any coffee to put in it. You’ll have to make do with ‘Camp’.”

Bucky pulled a face. “So, when are we to expect our two visitors?”

“Oh, they’ve arrived already. Stark asked me to come fetch you.”

Bucky swallowed down his anxiety as best he could. “But…they’re early.”

“Better early than late, surely?  It’ll get this over with more quickly.”

Bucky nodded. “So, what are they like?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“But you said they’d arrived.”

“Stark spotted their Jeep pull up at the gate. I didn’t”

“Oh.”

“Well, we’re about to find out”, said Steve. Bucky hadn’t even noticed but as they talked, they’d doubled back on themselves and reached the door to Stark’s hut.

Steve balanced on his tiptoes and sneaked a quick peck to Bucky’s cheek.

“What’s that for?”

“A kiss for luck.”

“Be brave for me, sweetheart”, said Bucky.

“Right back at ya”, drawled Steve in a desperately unconvincing American accent.

Bucky turned the handle and the pair of them ventured inside.

Stark wasn’t in his office. Instead he was entertaining his two guests in the pilot’s briefing area.

“Ah, Senior Airman Barnes. Let me introduce you to Colonel Fury and Major Pierce.”

Bucky saluted with deferential precision which was a helpful distraction, given he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

Major Pierce was a wiry blond Alpha in his 50s. The smile plastered on his face looked a touch slimy and fake, but that was only to be expected for a man of his profession.  Colonel Fury didn’t attempt any kind of smile, fake or not. He was an enormous shed of a man; an Alpha’s Alpha, with a mean looking patch over his left eye.

He was also black.

After his explanation of black regiments to Steve, Bucky considered it a high irony that the first black man his fiancé would ever encounter was going to be one of his assessors; the lead assessor in point of fact.

Thinking about it, there was certain logic to assigning Fury to the north of England, where a black face would be a source of polite curiosity amongst the locals, rather than anything less savoury.

A sudden fear gripped him that Steve would blurt out something inappropriate like asking which delightful colony of the Empire the Colonel hailed from. But he needn’t have worried. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he could see Steve’s focus remained on Pierce’s chillingly slimy grin.

“To allay any fears you might have”, announced Fury coldly. “We intend to assess your competence in training and piloting initially, followed by an interview segment.  Whilst Major Pierce verifies the paperwork associated with your time here at Topcliffe, I will interview the Squadron Leader’s secretary first, followed by you. I will then make my recommendations. We have another appointment this afternoon so we intend to have our investigations here completed by midday at the latest.”

Fury was nothing if not factual

Pierce said nothing. He just continued to grin idiotically at them both.

“So, no time like the present. We’re in the pilot’s briefing area already. Show us how you’d brief new pilots on a water landing.”

At least Fury had randomly selected one of Bucky’s favourite parts of the training schedule, ever since Steve helped him to put those flotation devices away in the cupboard. His fiancé hadn’t been asked to leave, so he smiled benignly at Bucky all the way through the session, giving him a little extra confidence in the presentation.

After that came the piloting. Steve stayed in the hut whilst the real assessment began. Both Fury and Pierce barked out their commands in an attempt to catch him out, but practice really did make perfect, and his ‘Sunshine Boy’ merrily painted the dark clouds of a dull autumnal Yorkshire morning.

Then came the waiting. A colleague taxied ‘Sunshine Boy’ away whilst he was led off to the dormitory hut. He remembered, with great trepidation, the first time he’d stayed here and been summoned to Stark’s office to explain the issue of Rumlow using the Voice.

And several hundred yards away, in a hastily prepared interview room, that’s exactly what his fiancé was being asked about.

“You have the police report, Colonel. I didn’t press any charges.”

“I’m fully aware of that, Mr. Rogers. My job is to clarify your motives for not doing so.”

“I made it quite clear at the time. Senior Airman Rumlow was the instigator of the assault. He rendered Senior Airman Barnes unconscious before the bulk of the assault took place.”

“But he could have stopped it by challenging Rumlow when the Voice was initially used.”

“He did challenge him, and on two occasions, if memory serves.”

“But that was verbal. He didn’t actually physically fight Rumlow.”

“That would have resulted in a death, would it not?”

“But it would have stopped the assault.”

“Only if the right Alpha had been killed. Otherwise the assault would have continued, perhaps with even greater spite.”

“This is pure conjecture, Mr. Rogers.”

“As are your questions, if you don’t mind my saying so, Colonel. If Barnes had fought Rumlow, the newspaper report would have listed both an assault and a murder. Surely that outcome would have been even more detrimental to the reputation of the US Air Force?”

Fury conceded the point with a begrudging grunt.

“What about the secretarial post you hold here, Mr. Rogers? Did Senior Airman Barnes procure that position for you?”

“I object to your inference in the very strongest terms, Colonel. I was interviewed for the position by Squadron Leader Stark. You’ll find all the paperwork in order.”

“Major Pierce is doubtless checking that as we speak.” Fury’s tone wasn’t threatening, but his body posture was. Steve didn’t rise to the bait. He detested Alpha intimidation with good reason, but he was choosing his battles carefully.

“I need to ask you a question of some delicacy now.”

Steve blinked. Based on the questions he’d already been asked, he couldn’t imagine how indelicate these 'delicate' questions were going to be. But he wasn’t going to give Bucky up without a fight.

“So, did you plan this pregnancy?”

Steve forced himself to remain calm. “No, it was an accident.”

“You appreciate, do you not, that getting an Omega boy pregnant is not sufficient grounds for the US Air Force to retain service personnel in particular locations.”

“But I gather that marriage is sufficient?”

“Usually”, conceded Fury. “But then you’re not yet married, are you?”

“That’s true, sir. We’re engaged to be married at present”, Steve subconsciously stroked the ring Bucky had given him.

“May I…ask why you aren’t married already?”

“Yes, you may. We’re not married because we decided between us that we wouldn’t want to force the hand of the US military by undertaking a ceremony merely to grant my fiancé certain ‘rights’. That would have been the easy thing to do, but not the fair thing to do. We wanted you to have the freedom to assess the situation here with full impartiality and make your conclusions based on the merit of the case.

Fury’s softened expression betrayed a sliver of respect at Steve’s words. It wasn’t much, but Steve believed he’d scored a vital point in the game. He could only hope that Bucky could capitalise on the advantage.

 

-*-

 

“Senior Airman Barnes. As you know, I have spoken with Mr. Rogers. This interview will be carried out under the strictest impartiality, but - as one US serviceman to another - I consider it appropriate to observe, without provoking undue bias, that your fiancé offered open, candid and compelling answers to my questioning. I hope that you will do the same.”

Bucky smiled inwardly. Clearly, Steve had played his part, and it was now his turn to step up to the plate.

“Mr. Rogers has provided a full account of the incident in York Station in January of this year. But I would like to clarify a couple of points for the record. Firstly, had you any awareness that Rumlow was unstable?”

“Yes sir,” Bucky admitted. “I must confess that he reacted violently during the Atlantic passage to a Beta serviceman, and he expressed attitudes to women that betrayed a deep-seated misogyny. I was not aware that he would stoop so low as to use the Voice with the intention to cause harm, but that does not exempt me from a portion of the blame. I was willing to overlook what were potentially serious character flaws for the sake of my unit and a sense of misplaced comradeship. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

“That’s an interesting observation. Did you say as much to Mr. Rogers prior to his decision not to press charges?”

“I did not, sir. The local detectives interviewed each individual separately, and came to their conclusions having impartially gathered this evidence, as you have today. I did express my feelings to Mr. Rogers about the incident later but that was some weeks after his decision.”

“I see. Would you consider your sense of guilt to be proportionate to your military duties?”

Bucky knew exactly where this line of questioning was heading.

“I believe that it is important for individuals to exercise their right to independent thought and free speech. That is what distinguishes our country from others, most particularly those with whom we are presently at war. However, it does not give me the right to disobey military orders or cause the disruption of other people’s contribution to the war effort.”

“So, you didn’t encourage Flight Lieutenant Barton’s negligent actions in any way?”

“Quite the contrary sir. Whilst I make no secret of sympathising with some of his opinions, his actions were contrary to the exemplary efforts undertaken by the Royal Canadian Air Force, and would have been equally contrary to the US Air Force, had he been operating in support of our own military.”

Fury nodded. “Well, I’m gratified you have clarified that to my satisfaction. You are aware, no doubt, that the actions you undertook in an effort to save Flight Lieutenant Barton and the rest of your crew have resulted in the Royal Air Force considering you for their highest award for bravery in combat?”

“Certainly not, sir. This is the first time I have heard of this”

“But you’d heard you were being considered for an award?”

“Yes, I had, but there’s a world of difference between being considered for an award and being granted it, and there was no indication what kind of recognition would be offered, if any.”

“So, you’re not interested in receiving this honour, then?”

“I’m interested to the extent that it might honour the crew for their bravery, and grant respect to the memory of the late Flight Lieutenant Barton, sir. But I don’t have any desire for personal glory.”

 “I don’t begrudge you getting a little personal glory, Barnes,” Fury shrugged. “The question is more about your motivation.”

“I know receiving an honour from the Royal Air Force won’t influence your decision as an assessor, Colonel. I fully appreciate that.”

“Good. I’m glad we’ve got that cleared up too. I now need to ask you a question about your personal appearance.”

Bucky cast a glance down at his uniform. He’d pressed it so neatly the night before he was half worried he might cut himself on the lapels. He’d partially anticipated pretty much every question up until now, but this one completely threw him.”

“Your hairstyle appears to be tapering into something not unlike a ponytail, which is not regulation for the US Air Force.”

Bucky hid his relief. “Ah, I understand sir”, he sighed. “The hair is to cover up a particularly nasty scar at the nape of my neck caused by the bomber incident we were just discussing.”

“You probably know the regulations by heart then.”

“I believe the phrase is “Neat and tidy”, yes sir. Do you consider that I might have strayed beyond the regulations?”

“Honestly, it’s a moot point. It depends on the location and extent of the scar tissue. I wouldn’t want to embarrass a fellow serviceman by having a particularly obvious wound exposed.”

Bucky looked at Fury’s eye-patch and decided to risk a personal observation. “If I may be so bold sir, I notice you have your own visible wound, which you have covered to a similar extent.”

“That’s true, though it’s nothing compared to your limb amputation”

“I really wouldn’t mind if you wished to inspect my scar sir, for verification purposes.”

“That goes well beyond my rights as an assessor, Barnes”

“This isn’t about rights, sir. I’m happy to give you permission.”

It seemed like the fitting thing to do, between two Alphas with visible disabilities. Bucky turned in his chair and shifted the hair and the nape of his neck to the right. Fury rose to his feet and walked over.

“Jeez, Barnes”, he hissed between clenched teeth. “I see what you mean now. Forget everything I said about regulations…”

Fury was interrupted by a knock at the door. He looked over in surprise as it opened.

“And how may I help you, Squadron Leader?”

-*-

“Oh, I didn’t expect to see you in here.”

Pierce slouched casually in Stark’s chair with his nose stuck in a file marked ‘confidential’, his feet up on the desk, and chewing on a stick of gum. Steve had visions of a cow chewing on its cud, but pushed that image to the back of his mind.

Pierce’s reading material doubtless originated from a selection of confidential personnel and mission files neatly laid out on the far edge of the desk. Steve could only assume that Pierce had retrieved all these for himself, since he knew how hopeless his own Squadron Leader could be with any kind of paperwork. Steve’s inner thought-process briefly questioned the level of authority a US Air Force Major might hold to access such files, but he quickly dismissed the idea given the Alpha’s casual boldness in continuing to read them right in front of him, and assumed that this was all part of the wider investigation. Nevertheless, such a disrespectful body posture in the seat reserved for his boss was more than enough to draw a stinging remark from Steve’s acid tongue.

“I wouldn’t stay slouched in that chair for much longer if I were you”, he advised. “If the Squadron Leader…”

Pierce shrugged. “He’s not comin’ in.”

Steve arched an eyebrow. “It’s his office.”

“Not while he’s dealing with the interviews it ain’t. And he’ll be an hour at least. I’ve finished with these ones, by the way”, he added, making a dismissive hand gesture at the files on the left-hand side of Stark’s desk.

It occurred to Steve that Pierce really ought to put away his own toys, but he wanted to make a good impression on the assessor, so he nodded politely and filed the papers back in the cabinet. Pierce watched him with a cold, calculating gaze.

“So, I get to thinking, maybe you and I should get to know each other a little better?”

Steve glanced up from the filing, but not directly at Pierce at first. He gave the impression he was thinking, but he’d become a dab hand at surreptitious scenting, and the subtle aroma of sexual deceit hung heavy in the air, partly concealed, just like the instinct itself, but detectable if you were half-expecting it.

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

“Oh, I think you do.” Pierce’s tone subtly blended playful and brutal with a skill of an Alpha well practiced in the art of making veiled threats.

“Then…I’d like that, Major Pierce.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear. An Omega boy with some sense.”

Steve limped back towards the desk, pausing to not-so-subtly check out his hair in the new mirror

“You look fine, darlin’. In fact, if it ain’t too forward a thing to say to a boy in your condition, I’d say you were positively ‘glowing’.”

“Why, thank you Major Pierce.”

“It’s Alexander to you.”

“That’s…a nice name”

Pierce twisted one lip upwards into the semblance a sickly smile. “You…mind me askin’ you a question?”, he drawled.

“I thought the interviews were in the other hut?”

Pierce laughed lightly. “Relax. It’s not that kind of a question.”

Steve nodded. Pierce hadn’t invited him to sit down, but quite frankly he felt more comfortable standing near the door anyway.

“Why Barnes?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I follow?” said Steve.

“I mean, I get that want an Alpha, and I get that you want off this chicken-shit island, but why pick Barnes, for Christ’s sake? He’s got a list of neuroses as long as that arm he doesn’t have.”

“He wasn’t like that when I first met him”, conceded Steve, truthfully.

“Ah”, Pierce nodded his understanding. “Loyalty. Y’know, loyalty’s a mighty fine quality, in a Spaniel, or a whore…”

“…or a soldier, I’d imagine”, quipped Steve.

Pierce chuckled darkly at that. “There are soldiers, darlin’, and then there are _soldiers_.”

Steve arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Not everyone plays by the strict rules they have set up in these mud pits in the North of England, you know? Some of us know how to show an Omega boy a real good time.”

Steve made a face. “I think I’ll pass, Alexander.”

“I…could use my Voice.”

Pierce’s tone was light, not so much a threat as a gentle reminder. He must have read the notes about how he and Bucky had met. He must have read about Rumlow’s court martial. This was his non-too subtle way of revealing his hand.

“I bet you say that to all the Omegas”, said Steve, burying his fears deeper.

“Only the pretty ones.”

“You consider Polio cases with a pregnancy bump pretty?”

Pierce shrugged. “I never had me a cripple before, but I reckon I’d like ‘em, and the pregnancy thing…well that’s just the greatest turn-on in the world, darlin’. I can scent those mommy pheromones from here.”

Steve cast an appraising gaze at Pierce, unable to tell if the man was as priapic as he claimed, or just another Alpha masking his inferiority complex with idle boasts. Before he could choose the correct course of action, he needed to know the truth. And the only way to find that out, was to call Pierce’s bluff. “I’d make an intriguing entry in your little black book, I have no doubt”, Steve suggested.

“Too right, you would. A double-page spread.”

“Oh? You make _that_ many notes, do you?”

Pierce snorted amusedly at that. “You still don’t believe me, do ya?”

“Forgive my scepticism. But there’s a lot of Alpha bullshit out there. It’s hard to sift the truth out.”

“Now that, darlin’ I can well understand.”

Pierce fished about in his military satchel and lobbed a palm-sized black leather notebook onto Stark’s desk. “There ya go. I don’t show this to everyone, you understand, but I’m nothing if not a man of my word.”

Steve flicked through a few pages. Pierce really was speaking the truth. The descriptions were lurid and graphic, but then Steve didn’t expect anything less from the man.

He placed the notebook back on the desk.

“I take it all back, Alexander. You really do mean what you say. With such an…eloquent turn of phrase, the Voice is but a blunt tool. All an Alpha of your talents needs do is ask.”

Pierce raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected the notebook to have such a miraculous effect on the Omega. Clearly, he’d underestimated its potential for seduction. He’d have to make a mental note of that for later conquests.

“So, what is it I need to ask you, darlin’?”

“You can ask me for anything you want”, murmured Steve invitingly.

“Anything I want, huh? That leaves me with endless possibilities…tell you what? I’ll not raise any more objections to Barnes staying here in return for a blow-job.”

“That’s a good bargain.”

“You’re a good boy; It’s gotta be one hell of a blow-job, mind, not something half-cocked.”

Steve smiled. “I think I can afford you that courtesy. I’ve had plenty of practice.”

“I bet you have darlin’, I bet you have.”

Pierce slid off his jacket and folded it neatly on the floor at the side of the chair

“There ya go. Wouldn’t want you to hurt your metal knees.”

“Thank you. Could help me down, please?”

Pierce grinned wide. “O’course. It’s the least I can do”

“This is like taking candy from a baby”, thought Pierce to himself. “If only I’d known it was this easy, I’d have investigated Barnes months ago. Not as if this needs to be my only visit, of course. I’m sure this pretty little Omega boy wouldn’t mind topping up my service once in a while.”

Pierce unbuttoned his fly.

“Now, that’s quite a tool, Major”

“Better than that limp dick you’re with right now?”

“A lot thicker.”

“Well, there’s an honest observation at any rate. Here ya go…” Pierce helped steady Steve as he used his walking stick to lower himself down

Maternity pheromones wafted into Pierces nostrils. Before Steve so much as placed a hand on him, he was rock solid.

“Oh God, this is gonna be so good, darlin’.”

“One for your little black book, I promise. You’re never going to forget this blow-job.”

Quick as a lizard, Steve licked Pierce’s shaft from root to tip.

“Uhhhhhgggg, you fuckin’ whore Omega, I love it.”

“Pah! That’s nothing. Wait till you feel this”, Steve winked.

Cupping Pierce’s balls gently, Steve sucked down about half of Pierce’s length, running his tongue along its underside in concentric circles, tucking the head of the shaft into the corner of his mouth right between his molars…

 

…and then he bit down….

 

HARD.

 

Pierce screamed. He tried to pull away, but Steve had tight hold of his ball-sack, yanking him back, twisting them like they were playthings.

“You filthy bitch”, screeched Pierce, when he could finally spare a breath of air.

Steve knew the weapon Pierce would use next. But he was more than ready for it. Grabbing the handle of his walking stick, he rammed the blunt end straight into Pierce’s Adam’s apple, rendering him speechless.

As Pierce wretched and writhed impotent in the chair, Steve struggled off the floor using Stark’s desk as leverage.

Once back on his feet, he didn’t waste any time. Summoning up every indignity Rumlow had forced on him; together with every sneer and insult he’d had to endure from ignorant and the selfish people all his life, he grabbed a fistful of Pierce’s hair and smashed the Major’s face against the desk.

“See how you like it, you Alpha bastard”, he spat. “No-one takes advantage of me, you hear me, NO-ONE. Least of all a blackmailing little shit like you.” He raised his stick to strike again, but by the time he took a swing, Pierce was back on his feet, and had grabbed hold of the end. The Alpha’s reflexes were still sluggish so they were evenly matched. Both gripped onto either side of the stick for grim death.

Steve could feel his power over the situation rapidly slipping, as Pierce yanked his side the walking stick towards him, forcing Steve to confront the consequences of his vengeance in Pierce’s twisted expression of savagery. The heady alloy of the Alpha’s spilt blood and outraged scent-trail was shockingly pungent, but now that they were standing face to face, he discovered that Pierce’s breath was more rancid than them both.

“You’re goin’ to regret this”, he growled at Steve hoarsely.

Steve levelled a steely eye at the Major “Not nearly as much as _you_ are”, he sneered back, using the last dregs of his adrenaline to jerk his metal-braced knee directly into Pierce’s crotch at close range. Steve swore he could hear the thick squelch of crushed testicle, as the Alpha collapsed into an untidy heap on the floor, whimpering piteously like a wounded animal.

Suddenly, the office door clicked open behind them. Steve’s head snapped back around in panic.

“Oh sir”, he gasped, his body sagging with exhaustion. “Thank God.”

-*-

“Hey! You asked me that same question five minutes ago, didn’t you?”

“Something similar”, admitted Fury. “But not the same.”

Bucky was starting to feel uneasy. Something just wasn’t right here. Ever since Stark had taken Fury to one side, it felt like the questioning had shifted gear. Sometimes when multiple bombers were coming in to land at the same time, the control tower would organise them into a holding pattern where they circled in the same airspace until cleared to land. He felt these questions were stuck in the same kind of holding pattern.

“Look, is there something I need to know, sir?”

“Just…answer the question” said Fury, adding a tight-lipped “Please.”

That last word let loose a flotilla of butterflies in Bucky’s stomach. Fury’s attitude had improved over the course of the interview, but he was hardly the polite type, at least not polite enough to bestow pleasantries on an individual as militarily insignificant as him.”

“Okay well I…”

Steve was interrupted by a perfunctory knock at the door, which Fury didn’t even have time to acknowledge, much less turn to answer.

“Colonel, what the hell’s going on?”, demanded Stark.

“There’s no need to get upset Squadron Leader.”

“Upset? You said this was a perfectly normal operation. In which part of America is sexual assault perfectly normal?”

“Maybe we should discuss this in priva…”

“Don’t you dare shut me down,” Stark angrily interrupted. “How _could_ you put my secretary’s life in danger like that?”

Bucky was on his feet in an instant.

“Stevie? What the hell…”

“It’s okay, he’s safe now, Barnes”, Stark confirmed. “But only because your fiancé is the bravest Omega boy on the planet.”

“I take it my guards caught him then?” asked Fury, a little sheepishly.

“Oh, they had an excellent view of the situation and no doubt their testimonies will be prove crucial, but they didn’t lift a finger to help. If I hadn’t stumbled in on them, I don’t want to think how it might have turned out. You _do_ appreciate that Mr. Rogers is three months’ pregnant?”

“Sir?” gasped Bucky, desperate for answers; reassurance; hell, anything.

Stark turned to Bucky. “I’m sorry, Barnes. I didn’t realise what it was the Colonel was proposing. When he said he needed my help to apprehend Major Pierce’s theft of confidential documents, I had no idea he was intending on using your fiancé as bait.”

“I didn’t know that’s how it would pan out, Squadron Leader. I simply had suspicions that required confirmation.”

“Which you received through that two-way mirror you had me install this morning, but why didn’t your men stop them earlier?”

“I can’t tell you unless I know exactly what’s happened. That’s why I need to talk to you in private.”

“Oh no!” growled Bucky. “My Squadron Leader’s right. If this involves Steve, then I want to hear about it right now.”

“He isn’t your Squadron Leader. This is a Canadian Military facility. I don’t need to remind you that you’re not Canadian, Barnes.”

Bucky cast him a look that would have frozen hell.

“Okay, okay”, Fury muttered.

“Mr. Rogers was too weak to explain”, continued Stark. “But your guards were good enough to provide a summary. Major Pierce attempted to blackmail Mr. Rogers, threatened him with the Voice and then forced him to perform a sex act.”

Bucky very nearly punched the wall.

“I appreciate that doesn’t look very good”, admitted Fury “But at least it gives us enough evidence for prosecution.”

Bucky forgot all about the wall; he wanted to punch Fury.

“You’ve got more than enough evidence right here”, said Stark, handing Fury a black leather notebook. Bucky couldn’t see what it contained, but even on a casual glance Fury’s eye nearly bulged out of its socket.

“How the hell did you get a hold of this?”

“Mr. Rogers persuaded him to part with it. Apparently, he wanted to show off his ‘conquests’.”

“I’m surprised Pierce didn’t snatch it back.”

“He wasn’t in a position to snatch anything back after Mr. Rogers was done with him.”

Fury gave him a puzzled look.

“I’m not a medical man, Colonel Fury. But by the looks of Major Pierce, I’d say there’s not a lot left of his genitalia.”

“Pity”, mused Fury, flicking through the notebook with an expression of gruesome fascination. “I’d loved to have been the one to officially castrate him for this outrage.”

“So, what happens to Barnes after all this?” queried Stark. “Was this even a real interview?”

“Oh, it’s real all right”, Fury confirmed “It’s just that I’d made my mind up half an hour back. Apprehending Major Pierce was purely a side issue. I’m going to recommend Barnes remains here on a permanent basis as your lead pilot trainer.” He looked up at Bucky, who was so confused and upset he’d opted for a respectful salute to keep himself from saying anything stupid.

Fury yielded up a small contrite smile. “I’m also recommending Barnes for promotion, the extent of which will be determined by his Commanding Officer at Thurleigh.”

The colonel rose to his feet. “At ease, Airman. I’m sorry for what…almost happened to your fiancé, though from what I hear, he can more than take care of himself.  It looks like you made a wise choice there, and I’ll be putting that in my notes too.” He turned on his heel. “Thank you, Squadron Leader. I trust this incident will not adversely affect future relations between US and Canadian forces in this country?”

Stark let the question hang, but shook Fury’s hand firmly and escorted him out of the room, returning to Bucky a few moments later.

“I’m guessing you want to see Steve right now?”

“Please”, Bucky gulped.

“I took him someplace quiet to recover. The experience shook him up a great deal. Follow me.”

Stark led Bucky outside and towards one of the hangars on the perimeter of the airfield, where servicing usually took place on the bombers that had sustained more extensive damage. Bucky immediately recognised the name and cartoon on the aircraft’s nose and detected his fiancé’s scent in the belly of ‘Sunshine Boy’.

“Go to him”, said Stark gently. “Take as long as you need.”

Bucky sprinted to his bomber and scrambled aboard.

“Stevie!”

The two of them embraced tenderly for the longest time.

“Oh God, Stevie. I’m so sorry. I should have been there.”

“You were being interviewed, honey.”

“Bugger the interview. That animal shouldn’t have been let anywhere near you. I’m furious that you were left like that.”

“To be fair, Stark was equally furious when he burst in on us. I’m just glad he got to me in time. I didn’t have much strength left…I was running out of options.”

Bucky tried to drown his overwhelming guilt in concern for his Omega.

“Were…were you hurt? Is the baby okay? Oh Jeez, Stevie. Would ya look at yourself. There’s dried blood round your mouth and all down your chin. Did that monster hurt you?”

Steve shook his head. “I knew what he wanted the moment he cornered me in Stark’s office. And I knew what I had to do. I can’t overcome Alpha strength, but brain beats brawn any day. I played along until I’d got him just where I wanted him, and then…” Steve gulped, nervously.

“Sweetheart?”

Steve whispered. “The blood around my mouth is all his. I…I think I bit his dick off.”

In a mixture of pent up anxiety and sheer relief, Bucky’s shoulders began to shake with uncontrollable laughter.

“I bit his dick off, twisted his balls in a knot and crushed what was left of them with a metal kneecap”, chuckled Steve, releasing his anger along with Bucky.

“Stark’s right”, Bucky sighed contentedly. “You’re really are the bravest Omega boy on the planet.”

Steve’s laughter subsided. He looked into Bucky’s eyes with a serious expression; an expression as hard as kneeled steel.

“An Alpha bested me once, honey; I nearly died of shame. Never again.”

“I’ll never forgive myself for not being there to protect you, sweetheart. Till the end of the line, remember?”

“Don’t, Bucky. Don’t torture yourself like that. I know you’ll fight to protect me and the baby. I know how brave you are.”

“You’re not exactly a shrinking violet yourself, sunshine boy. Your mum told me you could punch above your weight, how right she was. You’re a fighter.”

“I’ve fought all my life, Buck. So have you. So of course, I’d fight for myself, I’d fight for you, I’d fight for the baby. And yes, if it ever did come to that, I’d fight to the death.”

His old buddy Clint had been right. Omegas really were braver than Alphas. Tears of pride and joy flooded Bucky’s eyes as he folded Steve tightly in his arms.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will take a break next week, but I will be posting a special Christmas story very shortly to make up for it.


	29. Thanksgiving

 

Steve’s adrenaline rush after his triumph over Major Pierce lingered only a few more days before the inevitable backlash hit him. By the end of the week, he was tucked up in bed, sneezing and shivering his way through a heavy cold.

“His fever’s dying down a little,” said Becca, heading down the staircase with her trusty thermometer in her hand. “But I’m glad you called me. There’s a lot of nasty colds going around at this time of year and folks don’t give much thought to how bad the virus can get until it hits them.”

“So, do you think he’s still infectious?”, asked Bucky.

Becca rolled her eyes at her brother. “The common cold is one of the toughest and most virulent viruses known to medical science. Of course, he’s infectious. Hang on; don’t tell me you’re squeamish about this, Buckaroo?”

“Not really,” quavered Bucky, unconvincingly.

Becca shook her head at her brother’s poor acting skills. “Look, unless you’ve been living in a glass jar all your life, you’ll have built up a pretty decent resistance to stuff like this, but the immune system response of a fit and healthy Alpha and a pregnant Omega boy with Polio who’s just suffered a pretty traumatic experience will be very different.”

“It’s just that I can’t afford to get sick right now”, Bucky explained. “I don’t know if I’m still being judged at the airfield or not.”

“Huh? I thought the assessors had already been?”

“Yes, but Stark has been giving me some very funny looks recently.”

Becca considered that. “You sure that’s not just guilt?”

“Guilt? For what?”

“Well, you know”, Becca shrugged. “If you make a lot of complex arrangements to catch a thief and a blackmailer only to find out he’s much more dangerous…”

“But none of that was Stark’s fault…”

“You know, for someone who feels guilty about just about everything, you’re a little too quick to dismiss feelings of guilt in others, Buckaroo.”

Bucky bit his lip. Before his sister interrupted, he was about to suggest that it was his fault, rather than Stark’s, for getting them into that messy assessment situation in the first place, but then he’d realised that the only way of avoiding it would have been if he’d never met and fallen in love with Steve in the first place, and that dreadful thought just didn’t bear thinking about. “I guess you’re right, Sis”, he admitted. “I don’t think things through.”

“And you always think about yourself before anyone else”, continued Becca “But that’s boys for you…and Alpha boys in particular.”

“I’d like to think I’m getting better at putting ‘someone’ else first.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t improving, but that poor boy’s definitely got his work cut out, fixing up a bit lug like you.”

Becca’s mock scolding was interrupted by a knock at the front door.

“Don’t you think you’d better get that?” asked Becca.

“You’ve standing nearer the door than I am.”

“Yes, but I’m a guest”, she reasoned.

“So am I.”

“A guest who’s adopted the Rogers family as pack and is intent on marrying the man of the house, so open the door of the house, Mister British Barnes.”

Sarah and Nat were out shopping; or more likely standing out in an enormous queue somewhere trying to scrounge something resembling food with their ration books, so Bucky hoped the caller wasn’t anyone looking for either of them.

“Telegram for Captain Barnes”, chirped an enthusiastic apple-cheeked lad wearing a post office uniform several sizes too big for him. Bucky immediately thought of his first encounter with Steve in his oversized railway livery at York Station.

“I’m…” Bucky didn’t want to dispute his rank with a youngster who’d have no interest in the details anyway, so he settled on “Yeah, I’m Barnes.”

That did the trick.

One scribbled signature later, Bucky slipped back into the hallway holding a telegram…for him.

“It’s good job you answered the door after all”, said Becca.

Bucky checked the details. Other than the mistake with the rank, all the other details were correct. “Topcliffe Airfield c/o 50 Vyner Street, York.”

Bucky carefully opened the envelope, read the message, and then re-read the message. And then he re-read the message again just in case he hadn’t read it right at the first two attempts.

 

-*-

“Stevie?”

“Ugh!” came the grunted response from beneath the covers.

Instinct told Steve to build a defensive nest to protect himself and the baby when he was in danger. A cold wasn’t any kind of a serious threat, but it hadn’t stopped him burying himself under every spare blanket in the house.

“Well, no wonder you’ve got a temperature when you’re all bundled up like that.”

“Your nursing skills could do with a little work there, Barnes”, grumbled Becca.

“No…no he’s right,” sighed Steve “I really should get some fresh air.” He dragged himself into a sitting position. “Tying myself up in knots won’t do me any good in the long run.” He turned to Becca “Would you pass me my knitting? There’s a dear.”

“Before you start clacking your needles, Stevie, would you take a look at this?”

Bucky thrust the telegram at him. Steve scanned through it.

“…hereby promoted to Captain…His Majesty requests your presence at Buckingham Palace Saturday 19th December 1942 presentation of V.C.”

“Congratulations honey. That’s…. that’s wonderful news.” Steve burst into tears, maternal pheromones buffeted the brother and sister in waves.

“I always thought a Captain was in charge of a ship, but I wouldn’t put it past him to get mixed up and sail his ‘plane right into the ocean”, Becca teased.

“We were wondering if you could explain what the last part meant though?” Bucky asked, pointing to the acronym

“You mean the V.C.? Oh, that stands for Victoria Cross, I’m sure.”

“And that’s some kind of military award?”

“It’s only the highest award for bravery in the country. There’s nothing higher than that. Only the bravest of the brave are ever even considered for it. The Victoria Cross goes to the bravest soldiers, the George Cross goes to the bravest civilians, oh and there’s that new Dickin Medal for the bravest military animals.”

“That’s where they made the mistake”, Becca quipped. “You should have got the Dickin Medal.”

“Seriously, they give animals awards for bravery?”, asked Bucky.

Steve nodded. “Certainly, they do. But stop trying to draw attention away from yourself, honey. You’re an honest to goodness hero, and I’m so proud of you,”

Tears of joy continued to roll down Steve’s cheeks but Bucky was glad that his fiancé was sick enough that his nose was too bunged to scent the bitter almond Alpha anxiety flooding the room. The fake smile Bucky plastered onto his face had the desired effect of reassuring Steve.

“You’re thinking the Victoria Cross is a little too much?” Becca suggested when they’d returned to the kitchen to brew some tea for the merry knitter upstairs.

“A lot too much”, corrected Bucky, grimly. “Clint should be getting this, not me. And if this award is as high as Stevie says it is, then it’s clear they’re making an example of me.”

Becca paused for a moment. “Well, maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

“Huh?”

“If all this makes you safer…more secure, I mean, then you can have a happy family life. It means you can get married and no-one’s gonna separate you.”

“But I feel like a complete phony”, Bucky lamented. “Clint would have hated this.”

“No, he wouldn’t. You told me he dropped those bombs out to sea to avoid hitting the town. Well you’re accepting these honours, despite how you feel, so you can avoid being sent away…so that you can make Steve happy. Aren’t they the same thing?”

Bucky contemplated that as he stirred the tea leaves in the pot.

“And there’s another thing too”, added Becca “You say you feel like a phony. But that’s your guilt talking, or at least partly…isn’t it? I mean you completed your mission despite that bomber being crippled and you were very brave getting home when you were badly injured, and you did save most of your crew. I wouldn’t know if that deserves this Victoria Cross or not, but it certainly deserves something.”

“You’re just biased, sis.”

“Hardly, Buckaroo. I never stop scolding you.”

“Yeah, but you always said I’d do well in the end.”

“That promotion’s long overdue, the award is nice touch, but Steve and his family… well now, they’re real special. They’re what I really had in mind when I said I wanted you to do well. They’re our kind of people, Buck”, she smiled indulgently. “And let’s not forget that you doing well in the end only goes to show how smart I am at predicting things!”

“And you say I’m always thinking of myself before anyone else”, quipped Bucky.

“Just trying to redress the balance.” she grinned “Anyway, how are you gonna break the news to your future in-laws?”

Bucky snorted “Believe me, that’s the easy part. Wait till I get back to Topcliffe. I’m never gonna hear the end of this!”

 

-*-

 

“Ah, here he is, our brave little soldier”, drawled Beth, handing Bucky a can of chrome cleaner and a rag.

“What’s that for?”

“To polish up those silver bars you’ll be getting on your epaulettes”

“Knock it off. I got more than enough teasing in the mess.”

“Well, what were you expecting? Dignified applause?”

“Even Stark joined in. Said he’d be throwing a special Thanksgiving dinner in my honour, and that I could be the turkey!”

“Oh, I see Peggy’s writing his jokes now.”

Bucky smiled. What he liked most about Beth was her uncanny ability to tweak a laugh out of the least promising subject-matter. It was probably what made her so good at tweaking engines too.

“Anyway”, he continued “Canadian Thanksgiving was last month so I’m sure he doesn’t really mean it. Besides, I’m spending Thanksgiving evening at Vyner Street.”

“Well they won’t have a turkey for you, that’s for sure.”

“The cuisine at Chez Rogers isn’t what I go there for, as well you know”, winked Bucky.

“You looking to gobble me up instead, honey?”

Bucky whipped round.

“How long have you been listening in, you rogue?”

“Long enough”, grinned Steve.

Steve’s hobble was slowly regressing to a waddle, as his body reordered various organs to accommodate their little rosebud.

“Shouldn’t you be taking it easy?”

“Hark at the big beefy Alpha patronisin’ the man who took down a US Major with nothing more than a walking stick…”

“…and his teeth”, added Beth.

“Not something I’m planning on doing every week though, Beth,” said Steve.

“Just as well, or there’d be no Americans left on the island,” she laughed.

“As long as one particular American - and his sister - stayed, I’d be happy.”

“Sap!” huffed Bucky, but his proud smile said different.

-*-

“Could you drop me off here, please?”

The hackey driver nodded agreeably and pulled into the hospital driveway.

“Gotta pick up sis,” explained Bucky.

“Will you two be all right walking the rest of the way home, honey? I need to get back home quickly. I’ve some final preparations I need to make.”

“Gee, I dunno”, said Bucky. “Vyner Street’s less than a quarter mile away. We might just get lost or die of exhaustion getting there.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Tell you what? I’ll send out the light Calvary if you’re not back home in half an hour.”

Becca was waiting for her brother in reception wearing a pretty floral dress in soft flannel appropriate for the chillier weather.

“Wow, you look positively stunning. We going someplace special?” Bucky smirked, as she looped her arm through his.

“It _is_ special, Buckaroo. You’ve probably no idea how much thought the Rogers have put into this evening.”

“I just was figuring we’d have a meal together and a sing song around the piano.”

“Oh, we’ll get that too, no doubt”, she said, as they strolled out of the hospital doors and into the twilight. “But our three hosts have been trying to make tonight as American as possible.”

“Really? I’m assuming you’ve been advising them?”

“Well…up to a point”, she said, carefully.

Bucky lifted an eyebrow.

“It’s ridiculously easy to hold Thanksgiving in New York. It’s literally impossible in York; certainly not a York governed by ration books”, Becca explained.  “Too much advice would have just crushed their dreams. So…I don’t really know what they have planned, but whatever it is, can I rely on you to be diplomatic?”

“Hey, diplomacy’s my middle name.”

Becca couldn't hold in a giggle. “It never was in Brooklyn.”

“This is different. I love my little home in Vyner Street. This place has been here, like, forever, and I’m not gonna upset my Stevie or his Mum or Aunt, because things might get a little mixed up. I promise. Who knows, maybe we’ll start a tradition?”

“Who knows?”, Becca agreed, rapping at the shiny black door of No 50.

 

“Welcome, welcome honoured guests.”

Steve was holding the door open. He was also wearing a frilly pink lady’s garter around his head. Peeking out at the back was what looked suspiciously like the black and white tail feather of a magpie.

Bucky shot a hand to his mouth to catch his laughter just in time.

“You like?” beamed Steve. “It’s my Indian head-dress.”

“I…uhh…gathered that. So where’d you get the feather from?”

“Feather’s courtesy of Spitfire. He’s been hunting those blessed magpies in the back garden for over a week. He got lucky on Wednesday so we thought we’d make the most of his contribution.”

“We’re not…gonna be _eating_ the magpie too are we?” Bucky hesitated Steve closed the door behind them.

“Oh goodness no. I’d have had to fight the cat for it. And the cat would have won.”

Bucky severely doubted that, bearing in mind what Steve had done to Major Pierce, but then Spitfire wasn’t exactly a pushover either. The calico’s stubborn refusal to return to the Royal Oak despite Nat’s repeated attempts to repatriate him reminded Bucky of his fiancé’s tenacity. As he considered that, he wandered into the lounge and was confronted by a scene that brought him back to his kindergarten days.

 

In the chipped white china vase on the top of the piano, a little Union Jack flag presumably stored away since the Armistice celebrations in 1918, was joined by a breathtakingly bad imitation of the United States flag, scribbled on a scrap of lined notepaper and pinned in place by a meat skewer. Superimposed on a lime green background, Bucky counted 19 yellow stars of varying mismatched shapes and sizes. He didn’t know how they’d managed it, but every single one of the 11 orange stripes was hopelessly crooked. Above the dinner table, a sheet of paper obliterated by a bizarre mass of squiggles had been secured to the wall with a drawing pin. He peered at the squiggles without any understanding.

“Do you like it?” asked Nat, proudly. Bucky instantly guessed she was the budding artist.

“Oh yes. It’s wonderful. What a swell drawing of a…a…”

Nat’s face, surmounted by a similar garter and magpie headpiece, began to deflate with disappointment.

Becca hissed a word in his ear.

“…a turkey”, Bucky completed, just in time.

Nat’s grin reappeared. “I was a bit concerned you’d not be able to make it out. Steve trawled the public library, but he couldn’t find a picture of one anywhere, so I had to base it on memory and I’ve not seen a live turkey since I was a little girl.”

He turned to Steve. “You’ve been to the library?”

“When I’ve had time. I found a book on America that had the flag so I sketched a few pictures of what I think it looked like when I got home. Of course, the book only had black and white pictures so I had to guess the colours. Which reminds me, it also had a picture of a certain foodstuff you’ve been threatening me with…so….”

He rooted around in his knitting bag by the couch

“So…I’m going to steal your thunder and give you one of these before you can give one to me. Happy Thanksgiving!”

He handed Bucky a palm-sized knitted object.

The detail of Steve’s creation was exquisite, and yet inaccurate in almost every possible detail. The curly ‘sausage’ shape of the hot dog was knitted in moss green yarn. The ‘bun’ was battleship grey and a perfect squiggle of baby blue ‘mustard’ zig-zagged down the centre. It was the quintessential image of a ‘hot dog’ if you happened never to have actually seen one in your entire life, and were basing all your observations on a not-to-scale black and white photograph from an old library book.

Which of course is exactly what Steve had done for him.

Bucky’s heart melted.

“Oh Stevie, this is so beautiful,” he said, and he meant it.

“Come and sit down, we’ve got special Thanksgiving food for you ‘guys’”

“Oh?”

Becca winked at him. “I helped with this part,” she said, rather unhelpfully.

“A little detail would help, sis.”

“What, and ruin the surprise, Buckaroo?”

As they took their seats, Bucky noticed that – in the centre of the table - one of the saucers from the teacups had been loaded up by a floppy pyramid of surgical cotton wool balls.

“That’s an…interesting table decoration.”

“I got them from the hospital” said Sarah. “America is where cotton wool is from, right?”

“Erm…erm…I guess? but erm…more from the south I think.”

“I wasn’t entirely sure what you were meant to actually do with the stuff, other than use it in patient dressings. Or to make clothes of course”, she added, as an afterthought. “But I wanted to get all the things from the feast on the table.”

“The feast?” asked Bucky, hesitantly.

“The feast that the Indians prepared for their guests”, Steve clarified obligingly. “Why do you think we’re the ones wearing the feathers? We couldn’t get a turkey of course, hence the picture, but I think we managed to get just about everything else.”

Nat strode into the room from the kitchen bearing an enormous tray, on which sat Bucky’s steaming marrow, betraying the unmistakable odour of school dinners from long, long ago.

Sarah followed her moments later with a large basin overflowing with fluffy mashed potatoes.

“So here we have it” said Sarah “Pumpkin…well, marrow because none of us have ever seen a pumpkin, that’s stuffed with mince and onion, with lots and lots of potatoes.”

Steve levelled a serious look at Bucky. “Because potatoes come from America too”, he announced, most solemnly.

Bucky nearly lost it.

Discretely sticking a fork into the back of his hand under the tablecloth to control the urge to double up in hysterical laughter, he further distracted himself by asking, “So, which was your contribution to the menu, my dear Sis?”

“The mince. We couldn’t get enough to stuff a marrow of that size so Sarah and I managed to “borrow” a little extra from the hospital kitchens.”

Well, that explained the unpleasant school dinner smell at least.

Bucky and Becca enthusiastically ate their way through two lavish portions of what was probably the blandest yet most bizarre Thanksgiving dinner since the history of that holiday.

As the Rogers family cleared away the plates, Bucky whispered to his sister “George Washington would be spinning in his grave.”

“Or laughing his ass off”, countered Becca under her breath “Probably the latter, knowing Washington. So, how are you enjoying Thanksgiving with the Rogers?”

Bucky smiled. The tangible sense of fun and excitement in the household was maturing into a scent so powerful, it made his heart sing. It was the happy scent of his pack; of his home. For the first time since he’d left Brooklyn, Bucky truly felt at home. He turned to his sister. “How do you _think_ I’m enjoying Thanksgiving? They’ve managed to get everything so completely and utterly wrong…and I love them for it. I’ve never been so happy.”

Steve appeared at the kitchen door with an apologetic look on his face.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart.”

“Well, we spent so much time getting the first course right, that we didn’t have the time or the rations to do anything much for dessert. We think cocoa comes from America somewhere but there isn’t a chocolate bar to be in had in the whole city.”

“So, we’ve done our best with what we had to hand,” continued Sarah “Here’s a nice plate of bread and butter, and a bowl with some cocoa and a little sugar we managed to save up over the last few weeks. If you sprinkle some on the bread, it will taste sort-of chocolatey.”

“The last few weeks?” queried Bucky.

“Well, the last month actually”, shrugged Steve. “But it was worth it for our special guests. Now, how about some music?”

“Aren’t you joining us for bread and cocoa?”

“I’m full”, said Steve, just a little too quickly. “Besides, before we have our traditional sing-song, I have some very special music to play for you.”

Bucky glanced at the plate, then the bowl, and then back up at Sarah and Nat. A shared understanding passed between them. There wasn’t enough bread, butter, sugar or cocoa for all of them. This was a treat for their guests alone. He didn’t think Becca had noticed, as she enthusiastically scooped the mixture over her bread and gasped in pleasure at the heavenly flavour, in stark contrast to their bland main meal. This was a very special knowledge passed in familiar thought and scent just between Bucky and his new family. God, he loved this family, and their shabby little house on Vyner Street. The Rogers had nothing, but whatever they got, they shared with the Barnes’s. He was pretty sure his mom would be weeping right now if only she knew.

“I tried to find some American sheet music in the second hand bookshops,” said Steve, interrupting Bucky’s reverie. “But all they had was rag-time. There’s nothing wrong with that of course, but I wanted something more traditional. I asked for folk-songs instead, but that didn’t help either. And then I realised, your family’s Irish isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s right”, nodded Becca.

“And they had two Irish folk songs, so I saved up my pennies and bought them instead.”

“Stevie, we’ve been through this already. We’ve more than enough money in the bank for you to buy whatever you want.”

“That’s for our future, honey,” Steve pouted. “And anyway, I didn’t want you finding out I was going to the bank. You might have asked what I was buying and that would have ruined the surprise”

“Sweetheart”, said Bucky, a bit hurt. “I would never question what you did with our money. You can do whatever you want with it. I’m not…I’m not…” his voice turned grave. “I’m not that kind of an Alpha.”

“I know you’re not. I’m…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out that way. I just know how important it is for us to be secure for the future.”

Bucky forced a smile. “So, tell me about the songs. Do you think we’ll recognise either of them?”

“The first one was very popular here in Victorian days, it’s called “The last rose of summer.”

“Yes, we have that” said Becca, brightly. “It’s a lovely old tune.”

“Then I’ll sing that one first.”

Steve’s hands glided over the piano keys with confidence. Clearly, he’d been practicing a lot to sound so proficient. Bucky instantly recalled the melody when it started up and the song was every bit as sweet and haunting as he remembered it.

“That was beautiful”, mumbled Becca, still chewing the last slice of bread.

“The second one’s called, “He moved through the fair”.”

“I don’t recognise that”, said Bucky.

“Well, it’s a very old melody with lots of versions, but the bookshop owner told me this copy was quite rare because it was the first one published and it had the old words, which are really very sad, so it wasn’t too popular.”

“A lot of Irish songs have really sad words”, agreed Becca.

“What’s it about?” asked Bucky.

Steve smiled at him wistfully. “Actually, it’s a doomed love story between an Alpha and an Omega boy. The family don’t want the Alpha to marry him, but they mate anyway and before they can marry their baby dies. So, inevitably the Omega boy dies, and his Alpha is haunted by dreams of his dead love promising to marry him until the end of his days.

Steve began to play. Bucky didn’t recognise the tune, but it sounded unmistakably Irish and he could almost scent the thick layers of antiquity on it. The starched principle of an unsuitable match hailed from centuries past, thank goodness. At least the Rogers family didn’t feel that way about his deep love for their precious Omega child.

Bucky loved Steve’s voice. His sunshine boy positively glowed when he sang, and not just with the previous life inside him. But in sad songs, his voice had a very special timbre to it. Even his signature sunshine song had its hint of tragedy, with the singer forcing himself to be happy for the sake of appearances. But this song…this song was quite different. It didn’t hint obliquely at an underlying sadness, it spelt out the ever-present possibility of genuine tragedy. It reminded him, should he ever forget, just how precarious life could be, especially in wartime.

In the final verse, Steve’s soft lilting voice pierced Bucky’s soul:

 

_“Last night he came to me, my dead love came in_

_So softly he came that his feet made no din_

_He laid his hand on me and this he did say_

_Oh, it will not be long, love, ‘till our wedding day.”_

 

In Brooklyn, the remaining members of the Barnes family would soon be gathered round their table saying what they were most thankful for.  The Rogers may have not read about that tradition in their battered old library book, but Bucky needed no words to express the look between him and the singer of that tragic and hauntingly beautiful song.

And at that very moment, he was filled with an unshakable resolve that it would be long for his love, ‘till _their_ wedding day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The Dickin medal, launched by the People's Dispensary for Sick Animals in 1943, was indeed the highest medal for gallantry for animals who served on the home front in the Second World War and is still awarded to British animals who serve in theatres of war today. To read more about the Dickin Medal, please use this link: https://www.pdsa.org.uk/what-we-do/animal-awards-programme/pdsa-dickin-medal
> 
> 2) “She moved through the fair” is a well-known Irish folk tune. I particularly like this beautiful (1963) version by Anne Briggs. To listen to this version, please use this link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3dyUsXgL7ow  
> Nana Mouskouri and many others have sung versions using a masculine pronoun, so Steve's example of the song has precedent in real life.


	30. Bigger

“I can’t believe we’re finally here. I’m SO excited!”

Bucky smiled indulgently at his fiancé as the train finally shuddered to a halt. He’d been so excited he’d barely slept the night before, which meant Bucky had barely slept either. Not as if sleep was easy with the pheromones Steve was pumping out at this stage in his second trimester. Bucky didn’t want to risk mating, and for an individual as physically frail as Steve, it made logical sense to abstain, but he felt he needed an adult diaper just to soak up the Alpha seed leaking out of him just from being so close to a steadily ripening Omega boy.

“Have you never been to London before?”, asked Bucky.

“I’ve never been outside of Yorkshire before, honey.”

“Jeez. And Yorkshire’s only one county.”

Steve shrugged. “I have everything I need in one place. Why, is there anything better down here?”

Bucky considered that for a moment. London sure had a lot of entertainment options, some less savoury than others, as he’d found out when he’d arrived there with Rumlow, and New York was just another kind of London, with more attitude and way better food, so…if you wanted go to a show or eat like a king…or in Bucky’s case, have the privilege of actually meeting the King, you had to leave Yorkshire, but otherwise…

“I guess there really isn’t anything better”, Bucky answered simply, helping Steve out of the railway carriage and onto the platform.

Kings Cross Station looked even bigger than it had when he was last there, nearly a year ago, but such a lot had happened in that time. Back then, he was only concerned about getting Rumlow on the right train and out of trouble. Now he was scanning the enormous station for the least taxing exit route for a heavily pregnant Omega with leg braces. Not an easy task.

“Stevie? Would you ever consider using a wheelchair?”

Steve shot Bucky a look that would stop a clock.

“For when you get bigger I mean”, Bucky backtracked “Just so it’s easier for you to get around…”

Steve set his jaw firm. “I spent the first five years after the Polio fighting against people who were trying to force me into a wheelchair, Bucky. Once you’re in one, you never come out again.”

“I’m sorry…I didn’t realise” said Bucky. “That was really insensitive of me.”

Steve wrapped himself close to Bucky’s side and kissed his cheek. “It’s okay, my love. Honestly, you weren’t to know.”

“But that doesn’t help me work out how in the hell we get you out of here.”

Steve gave a short laugh. “That’s easy. We just follow the people in pinstripe suits.”

“Huh?”

“You forget I worked on the platforms, Buck. The pinstriped folk are your commuters. They know the quickest and fastest way out of everywhere.”

“But we’ll never catch up with them.”

“In a railway station as big as this one, a new train arrives every few minutes. We’ll just keep following the fresh pinstripes until we’ve reached the exit.”

And Steve was right. In less than ten minutes, following the endless waves of pinstriped suits not only brought them to an exit, but one with a taxi rank.

“You okay getting the rest of the way while I hail us a hackie?”

“Of course, but don’t call them hackies down here, they’re not used to your bizarre American ways”, Steve grinned.

Bucky smiled back, but his smile widened into an undignified yawn.

“You look exhausted, honey.”

“Yeah I’m thinking maybe we should check into the hotel first? Get unpacked and have a little rest before going out this evening?”

“That sounds like a great idea. Where did Stark book us into?”

“Stark had nothing to do with it”, admitted Bucky “We’re entirely in the hands of the US Air Force this time.”

Steve made a face.

“Hey, have a little faith will ya? My countrymen might have come up with something pretty neat.”

Bucky was hoping against hope that his words would prove correct. Once again, he rolled those dice of chance, which always seemed to come up with sixes. Here he was, returning to London with the boy of his dreams, and the imminent prospect of visiting Buckingham Palace and meeting King George tomorrow morning. How much longer would his luck hold out?

So, Bucky rolled his dice.

Sixes again!

(The Hotel Russell at Christmas)

 

Steve gasped in awe at the magnificent front of the Hotel Russell on Russell Square; a gigantic Victorian edifice in treacly brown and yellow stratified brick, gleaming glass windows and splendidly trimmed with enormous red tinselled bows in preparation for the upcoming festive season.

“One of the original White Star Hotels”, said the chirpy cabby, helpfully. “Only the very poshest passengers ever checked in here. The same man who fitted out the Titanic’s interiors designed the insides of this place. It’s a treasure, and those bastards in their bombers haven’t damaged her, well, not yet anyway.”

Bucky winced at the bomber comment, but the driver wasn’t to know that he was a bomber pilot, and the history lesson was very enlightening. Steve looked suitably impressed by the hotel. The cab driver looked suitably impressed too, once he took a glance at Bucky’s giant tip.

(The grand staircase of the Hotel Russell)

 

“Ah yes”, observed the snooty lady receptionist once they’d finished gasping at the opulence of the Titanic-inspired staircase and reached the front desk. “Captain Barnes and Mister Rogers. We have you in a twin-bedded room on the top floor.”

Bucky’s first thought was to rage at the US military’s insistence on twin-bedded accommodation for the “unmarried” but practicalities superseded those considerations.

“My fiancé is severely disabled, and five months pregnant”, said Bucky. “Don’t you have something a little more suitable?”

The receptionist looked Steve up and down like he was something on the underside of Bucky’s shoe. Steve withered in shame under the stare. Bucky felt like punching the supercilious little madam in the face, but that wouldn’t have made for easy small-talk in front of the King of England.”

“Yes, I…er…do see your point. Would you be so kind as to give me a few moments please, gentlemen?”

“Stevie are you okay?”

Steve nodded. “I need to keep this together. It’s your big day tomorrow, Buck.”

“I love you, sweetheart”, Bucky soothed.

An older gentleman appeared at the reception desk.

“Captain Barnes and Mr. Rogers?”

“Yes sir?”

“I’m the assistant manager. I’m terribly sorry to hear about the mistake with your booking. I’ve taken the liberty of reassigning you to a junior suite on the third floor. The lift is 19th century and not very large” he nodded in the general direction of a closet-sized contraption behind him. “But it should accommodate Mr. Rogers and yourself, and I’ll have a porter deliver your bags upon your arrival. Will that be acceptable for you?”

“Perfectly acceptable”, said Steve, taking control of the conversation. “You’re a credit to this hotel, sir, in stark contrast to the lady we were dealing with previously.” Steve turned on his heel and stagger-waddled towards the lift leaving Bucky to pick up the key.

“You’re a terror, you know that?”, murmured Bucky once he’d re-joined Steve in the close confines of the lift.

“Be thankful I’m never angry at you, Barnes”, Steve quipped back.

The lift doors slid open to reveal a richly carpeted balcony. The stair bannister before them was delicately carved in exquisite yellow-flecked Carrera marble, and in the space beyond, a fine crystal chandelier glinted it’s rays both down at the impressive Zodiac mosaic in the entrance hall below, and up at a glinting brass sculpture at the juncture of the balcony where the staircase began to rise to the next floor. Steve carefully made his way closer to inspect the curious object.

“Buck, would you take a look at this?”

Bucky wandered over, following Steve’s gaze to the brass work. He squinted at it for a few seconds.

“A…a brass dragon?”

“It seems so, honey.”

“Well, I’ll be”, whistled Bucky.

Even swanky hotels like this one had to make economies somewhere. The Titanic designer clearly thought Carrera marble wasn’t necessary beyond the third floor, but rather than simply joining marble to mahogany for the staircases that continued on to serve the endless floors above, he’d sandwiched this bewildering brass folly in between.

('George': the brass dragon at the Hotel Russell. 'George' has a brother, but sadly he's a few miles beneath the Atlantic Ocean, on the 'RMS Titanic')

 

“I’m gonna rub its belly for luck”, said Bucky.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Is that even a thing?”

“It is now. We could do with all the luck we can get.”

“Well, I’d better do the same. Knowing your luck, you’ll probably get the poor beast pregnant”, Steve laughed.

The Assistant Manager had been most thoughtful. Their room was only a few steps away from their brass dragon, the first one along the corridor. The spacious lounge area was decked out in regency style furniture which was more decorative than practical (Bucky took a seat on one of the couches and immediately thought of the horse-hair version in Sarah’s parlour) but the bedroom more than made up for it. Once he’d collected their luggage from the porter, he brought the cases in to see Steve nosedived on the bed.

“Hey turn over or something, Stevie. You’re gonna hurt the baby.”

Steve grunted an oath and turned to the side. His golden hair swished onto the pillow, slightly damp with sweat. Maternal pheromones wafted upwards into his nostrils.

Shit. Bucky had visions of mounting Steve right there and then. He struggled to push down the feelings, preoccupying himself by stowing away their few items of clothing. A dress uniform for him, and one of Clint’s more formal suits for Steve. When he turned back, Steve was snoring faintly, one hand protectively resting on the baby bump. Gingerly, Bucky clambered onto the bed beside him in the big spoon position and draped his arm over his fiancé’s shoulder. Steve whimpered a little protest in his sleep, then settled back again.

Somehow, the sleep had slackened off the maternal pheromones just enough for Bucky to drift off into a deeply contented doze.

He awoke with a little start, to the sound of splashing water. He was alone on the bed. He checked his watch. Late afternoon; he must have been out of it for hours.

“Stevie?” he called

“In here”, came a muffled sound from the door beyond.

“Sweetheart, why didn’t you wake me?” Bucky opened the door and blundered into a cloud of moist steamy air.

“I didn’t want to. You seemed so peaceful. Besides, I’ve only been up half an hour myself. Now, close the door before it gets cold”

Bucky closed the door. He could hear Steve’s voice, but he couldn’t see Steve anywhere. Slowly, his eyes grew accustomed to the misty atmosphere and his jaw dropped.

Steve stood before him, next to the only bathtub he’d ever seen that was actually bigger than the one in Scarborough. It seemed to be the size of a small swimming pool. Not as if he was concentrating much on its dimensions. His eyes were drawn to his fiancé, standing there stark naked before him, his delicate chiselled features, alabaster smooth skin and child-size limbs in total contrast to the swollen belly he nursed absently with one hand. His genitalia gathered like translucent grapes below, with his little shaft pointing up in a perky, almost comical erection.

The moment Bucky caught sight of this vision, he gasped. Steve blushed a full body blush, knowing he’d been sighted.

“You…you like?”, he ventured tentatively.

Steve was naturally shy about his body. Bucky rarely saw him without his vest, let alone like this. And it was the first time he’d ever seen him fully naked whilst pregnant. Maternal pheromones burst from every inch Steve’s pores, crowding everything else out of Bucky’s thoughts.

“Awwww damn, baby. You’re the finest lookin’ thing on this whole planet”, Bucky growled

“By the number of expletives, you’re using, I’m assuming you’re running out of vocabulary”, Steve began, in a prissy tone. “Or that you really need to fuck.”

That word sounded odd on Steve’s lips, and uniquely powerful in the way it could only be when almost never used. Like a sheathed knife abruptly uncovered, it glinted through the steam of Bucky’s pheromone-addled brain.

Bucky winced at the sharpness. “I…I could hurt you.”

“Not if you go slow, honey…could you go slow for me?”

Bucky nodded slack-jawed.

“And you’d stop if it hurt me?”

“God yeah, of course I would”, he gasped, almost offended by the inference. “You and the baby mean everything to me, sweetheart.”

Steve gave a sly smile and stepped into the tub.

“You know the bed would be a damn sight more comfortable”

“For who? I feel weightless in water.”

Bucky snorted.

“Besides, it’s special. It’s not like something we can do every day, now is it?”

“Not when you have to boil a dozen kettles for an inch of lukewarm bathwater in Vyner Street.”

“Exactly.”

The corner of Bucky’s lips twitched into a lascivious grin as he wrenched off his undershirt “I know what it is really, Stevie. You just like fuckin’ in bathtubs! Is that it? Do you wanna be my water baby?”

“Call it a…a positive association”, Steve answered nervously as his fiancé joined him.

“You want me to help you in?”

“Please.”

Bucky lowered himself in first and then gently guided Steve down. Without even realising it, his shaft slid along Steve’s widened passage.

“Shit, I’m sorry sweetheart. I wasn’t thinking”, he panicked

“No…no…it’s…its nice like this…and I can guide myself so it doesn’t hurt. It worked really well the last time Can you help me…”

Bucky gulped “Help you to…ride me, you mean?”

He nodded “Yeah…yeah like that.”

With his hand on Steve’s hip, providing a little extra strength, Steve gently slid back and forth on his Alpha’s shaft.

The suction and the sudden mixture of arousal and maternal pheromones combined drove Bucky into an intoxicated frenzy…in moments, he could feel the base of his shaft knotting them together.

This then, was the ultimate outcome, the very definition of their relationship. To use the analogy of the Lancaster named after Steve, Bucky provided the motive power – he was the engines of ‘Sunshine Boy’, but it was always his Stevie who would set the direction, who had his hand on the stick; quite literally in this case.

Bucky could feel the extra weight bearing down on the head of the shaft, a counterbalance to his knot. Their baby was so close to him right now…the blissful thought that their lovemaking was going to create a new life for him to cherish and protect propelled him over the edge as he grunted and spilled his seed into his Omega. His…his…his Omega, thrummed the instinct in his hind brain and the pulse of his shaft in every spurt of his seed. Though spent, he carefully lowered Steve down into the water to rest by his side. It was then that he realised that Steve’s little shaft was still hard.

“I’m so sorry baby”, he mumbled. “That’s not acceptable of me. I should be taking care of you.”

“You have, honey, you have. It’s not something I knew until I became an Omega, but we orgasm twice”

“Twice?”

Steve nodded shyly. “The first kind is the kind that you have too, but I also get a much more powerful one inside me from your knotting. The first time we made love both orgasms happened at once for me and I nearly passed out from them, but with the baby’s weight, I guess the one in my shaft hasn’t…”

“You talk too much”, purred Bucky as he wrapped his fist around Steve’s length and began to jerk him slowly and luxuriously.

“Ohhhhh”

“It’s time for me to make you feel good, my beautiful sunshine boy, and I ain’t gonna cut any corners doin’ it. We’re gonna be knotted for a good hour I reckon. How long do you think I can edge you for huh?”

“You’re gonna drive me mad, Buck.”

“Too late. You accepted my marriage proposal. I’d say you’re certifiable, my little English muffin.”

“Hey, less of the little.”

Bucky was going to about to make a wisecrack at the contents of his palm, but that was uncalled for. Steve was Steve, and – like every other part of the love of his life – what he lacked in size, he more than made up for in sheer balls-deep determination.

“To the end of the line, sweetheart”, Bucky whispered.

 

-*-

 

“You and your surprises, Buck.” Steve shook his head sadly.

“What? I thought you liked surprises?”

“You don’t know London. How can you take me anywhere with even the slightest confidence that it’s a good place to go?”

“You don’t know London either.”

“True, but I’m not the one giving orders to the hackie.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You said not to use that word.”

“Not to the drivers of course, but I’m talking to you now, mister big-shot New Yorker.”

“I didn’t know Scarborough either. I think I did a pretty good job there, didn’t I?”

Steve didn’t immediately reply to that in words. As the taxi drew up beside them, he slipped a gentle yet sensuous kiss onto his fiancé’s lips.

“Yes, yes you did an excellent job, honey. And I trust you.”

Bucky’s heart glowed with pride. Scarborough had been his high-water mark, but the bathtub in Russell Square was even bigger than the one at the Grand. Maybe he could get raise the tide just a little further in London?

“Driver, please take us to Rainbow Corner, Piccadilly.”

 

-*-

  
The bored-looking Beta sergeant slumped at his desk abruptly perked up.

“Hey! I know you, don’t I?”

Bucky grinned with the recognition. “Do you only get one visit?”

“Barnes! Yeah, I DO remember. Hey, look who just got promoted!”, he whistled at the Captains bars on Bucky’s epaulettes. “You did well for yourself, buddy”

“Yeah, this country’s been good to me. A job I love, a promotion and a fiancé”

“No shit”, the Sergeant looked Steve up and down approvingly. Steve’s smile was a touch strained. He disliked the idea of being appraised like he was in a cattle auction, but he could scent the Beta’s benign intentions.

“I’ve got a letter here, signed by US Air Force Colonel Fury…”

“Oh, I don’t need to look at that…” the sergeant waved him away, looking at them both dopily. “Who could say no to a cute couple like you? You guys run along and have fun…”

“You must have made quite an impression there”, said Steve as Bucky helped him down the steps.

“Yeah, well the last time I saw him, I was with that runt Rumlow. Anyone would look good compared to him.”

“That’s hardly a glowing recommendation”, Steve laughed. “But tell me, do you really have permission to bring me down here?”

“Nope.”

“But you said you had a letter from Colonel Fury.”

“And so I do. It doesn’t mention anything about Rainbow Corner.”

Steve grinned. “You sly dog. Well, this place must be good if you’re risking your little silver bars to smuggle me down here.”

“There’s a bar in this basement called Dunker’s Den.”

Steve sniffed haughtily “Doesn’t have the same ring as “The Royal Oak”. Does it have warm beer, an old piano and a calico cat?”

“No, no and erm…no, but it has other things to make up for it.”

In contrast to the last time he’d visited, the place was heaving. The jukebox was playing so loudly, he could barely hear himself speak near the bar area. American men and local women jitterbugged feverishly on the dance floor. A waitress in the corner of the room took one look at the couple and immediately guided them to a quieter spot in the corner of the café area.

“Oh, that’s so much better, thank you my dear”, said Steve, sinking into a space at the bench.

“Not a lot of padding on this seat”, fussed Bucky

“It’s okay. I’ve got padding enough round my middle” Steve sniggered back. And it’s hot enough in here without more upholstery.

As he slid in as close to his fiancé as possible, the coffee and donuts magically appeared in front of them.

Bucky grinned fiendishly and waggled his eyebrows.

“I recognise the stinking black liquid”, deadpanned Steve, “But the pastry is new”

“That’s a donut. You eat it.”

“I’m an Englishman, not a Martian. I think I can work that out.”

“Do you want any cream in your coffee?”

“I think I’ve had more than enough cream for one afternoon, don’t you?”

Bucky shook his head in mock offence. “You and your course tongue.”

“Well tongues can be used to taste too so…” With a shrug, Steve sipped experimentally at his first cup of ‘joe’. Bucky quickly took a mouthful of his own to make sure it was up to standard. By and large it was. Eagerly he sought out Steve’s reaction.

Steve adopted a perfect poker face.

“Well?”

“Much as it pains me to say it, but that’s actually very good.”

“Ha!”, Bucky crowed in triumph.

“You’re not going to be insufferable about this?”

“Well, that all depends on what you think of the donut.”

With a certain trepidation, Steve bit into the glazed treat.

Bucky raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Having swallowed a bite, Steve pronounced judgement. “They’re very sweet and very succulent. Like if someone added sugar to the batter of one of our fish and chip suppers.”

“Really?” Bucky hadn’t been expecting that reaction. Come to think of it, there was a very slight resemblance, but only for someone who had absolutely nothing better to compare donuts to. But then, of course, he realised. Steve really did have absolutely nothing better to compare donuts to. As with the Thanksgiving meal, He was doing his best with almost zero experience of American culture or cuisine. Bucky’s desire to show off in front of his fiancé quickly cooled to a sober respect.

“Do you like them?”

“Of course, I like them. They’re sugary. I haven’t had anything with this much sugar since…since I really can’t remember.”

“Then you can have mine.”

“You sure? I don’t want you to be hungry?”

“You’re eating for two. And anyways, this is just a snack. I’m gonna order us something else.”

He called over the waitress again. Steve strained to hear their conversation, but the music was too loud and Bucky was facing away from him. Instead he took a look around. Several other couples had retreated to this quieter area, but he didn’t need to worry about any of them staring at his baby bump. They only had eyes for each other, and tongues too so it seemed.

“This place is…different”, he said, once Bucky turned back to him. “Are all American bars like this?”

Bucky snorted. “Sweetheart, I’m pretty sure I can say hand on heart that NO American bars are like this. What you’re looking at here is a place where weary servicemen stop to relieve themselves of their…” he thought of a polite way of putting it “…of their anxieties and their frustrations. You’d never catch them doing anything like this in their own neighbourhoods.”

“That’s just as well…though I suppose if this is what America was really like; it would explain why you’re becoming the dominant power in the world. You’re going to breed the rest of us out of existence.”

“What do you think I’m doing with you Stevie?”, Bucky winked.

Steve laughed. “More like the other way around, Buck. You said so yourself, we’re breeding British babies for Sarah and Nat to coo over.”

“Can’t they be dual nationality?”

Steve shrugged. “I’ve no objection to that, but they’re not going to be all-American no matter how many of these, quite frankly, heavenly donuts you force me to eat”, he groaned, licking the sugar off his fingers

“Hell, you ‘aint seen nothin’ yet!”, Bucky chuckled.

A moment later, the waitress returned, placing two groaning plates on their table.

Steve blinked at his plate “Chips?”

“We call ‘em fries, Stevie. They’re crispier than the chips we have with our fish and chip suppers.”

“Okay and what’s this? We’ve each got different things on our plates?”

“Yes, I thought you might like to try a little bit of mine, but it’s quite big and I didn’t want you to have a tummy ache for tomorrow, especially after your double-helping of donuts.”

“I knew I kept you around for a reason, Barnes. So, what exactly is this? He pointed to the object on his plate.”

“Do you remember what you knitted for me?”

Steve’s eyebrows positively knitted together “But…but it’s too big and…it’s all the wrong colour. Send it back, it’s gone bad!”

Bucky didn’t laugh.

“Stevie, sweetheart”, he explained gently. “This is the size and colour it’s meant to be. That black and white photograph you looked at in the library book…well…it wouldn’t have been taken to scale so you couldn’t get the size right, and you couldn’t possibly have known what colour the food was either.”

Steve’s looked down utterly shamefaced. “I’m sorry. I suppose it must have looked ridiculous to you”

Bucky placed a finger on his fiancé’s chin and tilted his face up towards him.

“No, baby. It wasn’t ridiculous. It was real good of you to try. You always make me so proud of you. And do you know what? I wish hot dogs were the colour you had in mind, that’d make them really cool. Though I’m glad they’re bigger that you thought.”

“So am I”, said Steve. “I’m still quite hungry. But thank you for being so sweet about my mistake.”

“You didn’t make a mistake, my beautiful sunshine boy. You were creative, just as you always are, with your ideas and your beautiful music. And as for being sweet, I’m nothin’ compared with you. Why, you’re so sweet, you make those donuts taste sour.”

Steve giggled, snuggling up closer to Bucky “So what’s that?” he pointed to Bucky’s plate.

“That’s a hamburger…well, a cheeseburger to be exact.”

He took off the top bun to illustrate “Ta-da!”

“So, it’s a…bacon and cheese sandwich?” Steve queried.

“Er…no.”

“But it’s ham and cheese in between bread, yes?”

“No, not quite”, said Bucky. “The burger part is this patty of meat, which I guess is beef.”

“Okay.”

“But you’re right about the slice of cheese at the top.”

“What about the bread?”, asked Steve.

“It’s a bread bun, but we don’t call it a sandwich.”

“But it IS a sandwich, right?”

“Kinda…I…I never really thought about it before

So really, it’s a hot beef and cheese sandwich.

Bucky scratched his head. “If you like.”

Bucky felt distinctly uneasy having his favourite food dissected like that, but then he was the expert, sort of…wasn’t he?

“Why? Is it not good, Stevie?”, he asked.

The American waitress had been watching the cute Alpha-Omega couple getting all bashful and affectionate with each other. It was sweet, wholesome, and very different from most of the ‘action’ taking place in the other speakeasies. But she was getting concerned that neither of them had taken a bite of their food in five minutes. Most of her clients were had polished off their whole meal in less time than that. In the end, her curiosity got the better of her.

“Everything okay, fellahs?” she asked, sidling up to them.

“It’s fine”, said Bucky. “It’s just that my fiancé is British y’see, and I’m having a bit of trouble trying to explain American food to him.”

The waitress shrugged and asked Bucky. “So, what’s yer problem, Mac?”

Bucky spluttered. It felt so odd to be addressed in that way. He’d cut himself off from American culture for so long, it actually felt a little bit alien even to him.

“Well Hamburgers are made from beef, so why do we call them ham?” Bucky asked.

“Oh, well you see, from what I heard, Hamburgers originally came from Hamburg so that’s why they’re called that.”

“Oh, I see…thank you”, said Bucky.

“You’re welcome.”

“So, we’re eating German food?” asked Steve, as soon as the waitress had gone, raising an eyebrow.

“I er…well…gee…you learn somethin’ new every day”, Bucky shrugged.

Sensing his discomfort, Steve snuggled still closer. “Can I try a bite of it, then?”

“Sure, Stevie.”

Bucky should have known what was going to happen next. Steve glanced down at the table and frantically signalled for the waitress to return.

“Another question?”

“More of a request actually; please may we have some cutlery?” asked Steve

“Cutlery?”

“You know, knives and forks.”

“Yeah, I know what cutlery is”, said the waitress.

“Sorry, it’s just we didn’t get any.”

“Well you don’t…oh…” She looked over at Bucky. “Knives and forks coming right up.”

Bucky was relieved the waitress had obviously lived in England long enough to know that, if they were dining out, the British never ate anything with just their hands. He wouldn’t have been all that surprised had Steve requested a cake-fork for the donut.

As soon as they were in his grasp, Steve delicately carved out a portion of hamburger from Bucky’s plate and invited him to take a slice of hot dog.

“So?”

Steve didn’t react; he was far too busy eating. That wasn’t just a success, it was a triumph deluxe. Nothing ever stopped Steve from talking. Not until this meal.

Gasping in satisfaction, he murmured to Bucky. “When do I sign the emigration papers?”

“Careful what you wish for, Stevie.”

“This food is amazing.”

“But if you ate it all day, you’d grow tired of it. You’d also be the size of a barn.”

“Too late”, quipped Steve, pointing to his baby bump.

“Glad you finally got round to eating” wisecracked the waitress as she collected their spotless plates. “I was starting to get worried. No-one’s returned the food yet, but there’s always a first time.”

“Well you’re getting no complaints from me”, smiled Steve contently.

“I guess I’d better get you your drink now.”

“Drink?”

“She returned with really two tall glasses, a colourful stripy straw in each.

“Milkshakes!” announced Bucky, dramatically.

“They’re bigger than I expected. Everything’s bigger than I expected”

“Even me?”

“You’re huge, Buck, in every kind of way I can describe. You’re physically powerful, emotionally complex, amply endowed…”, he blushed. “Not to mention the bravest man I’ll ever know. But I don’t want your head getting any bigger or His Majesty will have to pop it with your medal tomorrow.”

“Don’t see how you can say I’m the bravest when you’re twice as brave as me, Stevie.”

“We’ll agree to disagree in your headquarters, honey. But I’ll be sure to beat you up over that later.”

“Point proven”, wisecracked Bucky.

Steve groaned, took a slurp of his milkshake, and then he groaned some more.

“Mmm?” hummed Bucky

“It’s…. ugh…it’s so GOOD. What do they do to the poor cows to make milk taste this good? Did they really shake them?”

“Uhhh…that’s just a turn of phrase, Stevie.”

“Well did they feed them bananas?”

Bucky glanced at the rapidly descending yellow liquid in Steve’s glass

“No, they just add banana to the milk.”

“That’s almost as magical. Where the devil do they get the bananas from?”

“Banana trees I’m guessing”, Bucky shrugged.

“Bananas…from banana trees…in a war? This place is like a fairy tale.”

Bucky pondered his sister’s words. He was beginning to understand what his parents meant when they’d said they had more than Steve’s family and wanted to share. Steve lived all his life in blissful ignorance about the land of plenty across the ocean. He didn’t rush to go there; he was content with his lot.

But perhaps Bucky was wrong not to try and persuade him that there was a better life out there for him, for them, for their family, if he wanted to make that choice. Bucky would stay here with Steve if that’s what Steve wanted of course, but was it wrong for him not to tell him more about the other options out there?

But how practical were any of those options? He’d have to do a lot more homework before he spoke those thoughts out loud.

“Yours is red. Is it beetroot flavoured?”

Bucky thoughts jerked back to the present. “What?”

“Your milkshake? Is it beetroot?”

“No”, said Bucky, surprised by Steve’s inference. “It’s strawberry of course.”

“Really? That’s a very dark colour for strawberry. May I take a sip?”

“Be my guest.”

“Steve took a big gulp”

“Oh my, that’s even more delicious than the banana one. May I have another? Please?”

He chuckled “Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want. Waitress?”

“Let me guess? More questions?”

“Yes please” said Steve, emboldened by the libations. “What other flavours of milkshake do you have?”

“Well, let me see…we got what you guys have got right now, but also vanilla, chocolate, butterscotch, caramel, pineapple…”

“Pineapple!” cheered Steve. “That would be…fantastic! You do know they’re the most expensive fruit in the whole world, don’t you?”

“The milkshakes cost the same whatever flavour you order,” she smiled.

“No! Really?”

The waitress was loving this. It was like having an exotic creature in the basement that scented of maternity, trust and the most adorable wide-eyed innocence. And she got the feeling his Alpha would be one hell of a tipper.

“One pineapple milkshake coming right up. And what can I get you sir?”

“I’ll have another cup of joe please. Once I leave this place, I’ll not see another in months, maybe years.”

“Whatever ya say, Mac.”

As she turned, a drunken Alpha corporal slammed right into her.

“Hey watch where you’re going, ya dumb bitch”, he slurred.

The drunken bum stooped over her, threateningly.

Bucky rose to his feet and cut between the corporal and the waitress.

“Hey, why don’t you back off, pal?” murmured the corporal.

Bucky squared, just looked him in the eye, and growled deep and low. Indisputable Alpha dominance poured out of his scent gland.

The corporal gulped and turned to leave, lurching right into the waiting arms of a couple of military policemen.

After a few bursts of polite applause that caused a fresh flush of embarrassment to his cheeks, Bucky sat back down. Interestingly, the level of background noise dropped a little, as if the raucous elements in the basement bar had scented the change of atmosphere and were acting a little more respectfully towards the ladies in their company.

He left Steve chatting to the waitress and went to the restroom. As he left, the desk Sergeant came up to him.

“Captain, I just wanted to say how grateful I am to you for diffusing that situation. It could have got really ugly. Needless to say, your meal is on the house.”

“Hey, you don’t need to do that.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

“Well, I’ll make sure the waitress receives a handsome tip nonetheless. She’s been through a lot tonight.”

“That’s real kind of you. Is there anything else I can do for you, by means of appreciation?”

“No…” A lightbulb went on in Bucky’s head, “Oh, yes. Actually…maybe there is.”

Two more milkshakes later, and on a signal from the bar, he asked Steve to join him for a little walk.

“Where are we going? This place is in a basement. There’s no romantic balcony to wander over to.

“I know…” said Bucky “I was just wondering if you’d care to dance.”

“Dance? But you only know the Waltz. I doubt there’s much Glenn Miller in three four time.”

“I asked Stark to teach me the Foxtrot too. He wasn’t too keen but Peggy ‘persuaded’ him to help.”

Steve did a double take. “There is so much wrong with that sentence, honey. I just don’t know where to start. Firstly, the image of Stark holding you in his arms is just too bizarre for words, and secondly, why a Foxtrot? It’s almost as out of date as a Waltz.”

“A slow Foxtrot is about the only other dance you could manage in your present condition, Stevie.”

“I suppose that’s true, but what makes you think they’ll have any records in this place old enough to dance a Foxtrot to.”

Within the first few bars of the melody on the jukebox, Steve instantly recognised a jazzy instrumental rendition of “Painting the clouds with sunshine”; ‘their’ song.

Steve gasped. “For me?”

“Just for you, baby.”

Steve held out his hands “Wait a minute, what moves did Stark teach you?”

“The ladies’/Omega boy’s moves of course. I asked him to. I want you to lead me, Stevie.”

“What? Here? In front of all these American servicemen?”

“Yeah, let ‘em all see. You’re my pilot, my sweet sunshine boy. I want everyone to know who steers my life.”

Clearing away the last empty milkshake glass, their waitress sighed as she watched a little Omega boy gently lead his gallant American Captain around the dance floor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The Hotel Russell is indeed the last White Star hotel in London, and its interiors were designed by Fitzroy Doll, who also designed the interiors for the 'RMS Titanic' and her sister ships 'Olympic' and 'Brittanic'. The opulent hotel (and its resident dragon) can be visited to this day.  
> 2) For readers who like auditory cues, I envisage that the old '78 record of 'Painting the clouds with sunshine' that Steve and Bucky danced to at Rainbow Corner, is this particularly perky version: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GbQknhk_a2Q


	31. Palace

 

“Happy sweetheart?”

Steve stretched out like a cat in Bucky’s arms. “The happiest”, he murmured, sleepily.

“I was a bit worried you might have eaten too much. Didn’t want you having a sore tummy today of all days.”

“I can’t pretend I didn’t have a few twinges during the night, but those milkshakes washed down the food very nicely, and our little dance helped too.”

Steve shifted a little to get comfier in Bucky’s embrace. “All the same, I’m not sure I could face breakfast.”

“The military only paid for the room, Stevie, so you’re not missing out on anything by not eating.”

“Doesn’t stop you from going down for breakfast though. You’ve got a big day ahead of you, honey. You don’t want your stomach grumbling in front of the King of England; it just wouldn’t be proper.”

“And what would be proper anyway?” Bucky asked, with a wry smile. “I’m sure I’ll mess it all up. That list from the investiture committee sent us just made my head spin.”

Indeed, a week prior to their trip, Bucky had received a lengthy description of how being presented with a military honour would go, where it would take place, and some hints on both what to say, and what not to say, to Royalty.

“I told you before, honey, you really shouldn’t worry. The King’s been all over the country, and all over the world. He’s met all kinds of people. It’s his business to get on with everybody.”

“I’m not all kinds of people. I’m Brooklyn born n’ bred and I could easy say somethin’ that would really shock him.”

“I’m fairly certain he’s unshockable.”

“Is that so?” Bucky arched an eyebrow.

“Well”, Steve added cautiously. “I mean…just don’t go out of your way to shock him, will you?”

Bucky chuckled. “Relax, kid. Remember, George is my old man’s name too. I’d get a belt in the kisser if I called either of ‘em ‘Georgie’!”

“Just as well, given that his real name’s Bertie?”

“You’ve got to be kiddin’ me, right?”

“No. George is a family first name. It’s not his real one.”

“You mean he doesn’t even get to call himself by his own name?”

Steve slid around to face him.

“This isn’t going to be another Hamburger conversation is it?”

“Huh?”

“Where you ask me a lot of things about British customs that I’m supposed to know but can’t actually explain?”

He watched fiancé’s expression as the penny dropped.

“Yeah, but you started it, sweetheart”, Bucky grinned.

“That sounds like you’re back in the playground, Bucky Barnes.”

“Well, maybe that’s because I’ve got me something real nice to play with”, Bucky purred, tenderly sliding his hand over Steve’s baby bump. The sensation sent maternal pheromones leaking from every pore of Steve’s baby-soft skin.

Steve sighed, trying to get Bucky to focus. “It’s getting late. I really think you should go down to breakfast and get a bite to eat”

“Oh baby, I got all I need to bite right here.”

“Hmmm…maybe you’re right, you Brooklyn ruffian. With language like that, you’d better keep your mouth firmly shut in front of His Majesty.”

 

-*-

 

“So remind me again” Bucky fussed, in the back of the hackie “It’s ‘Your Majesty’ for the King?”

“Yes”

“And it’s either ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Your Royal Highness’ for everybody else?”

“Well, not for the cleaning lady obviously,” Steve snickered.

“Be serious for a minute.” Bucky slid a finger nervously round the starched collar of his dress uniform. He was pretty sure Sarah had poured the entire monthly ration of it into the tub. When he got it off the hangar that morning, it had practically marched its way onto his back.

“Oh, so NOW you want to be serious, Buck.”

Steve relented, sandwiching his fiancé’s giant palm between his delicate little hands.

“Honey, there’s unlikely to be any other Royalty present, but the rules about who is a Royal Highness and who is a Highness, are too complicated to explain…besides…” he blushed, “…I’m not entirely sure of them myself. And if I’m not sure, then you don’t need to be. Just call anyone else ‘Your Royal Highness’ and if you’ve got it wrong, then you’ve given them a promotion, haven’t you?”

Bucky brightened at that. “Hey, that’s true ain’t it? Just like I got promoted.”

“You needn’t think I’m calling you ‘Your Royal Highness’ though, Bucky Barnes.”

“I wouldn’t want you to. There’s nothing high and mighty about me.”

“Except for when you’re high up there in the clouds, my love.”

Bucky snorted. “Lemme tell you something, they’re all dark, until you paint ‘em with your sunshine for me.”

“Then I’m glad I’m up there with you, honey.”

“Always, Stevie. You’re never out of my thoughts. You’re my mission.”

Steve pressed a gentle kiss to his fiancé’s lips, before seeing a certain iconic building hove into view.

“There it is!” Steve exclaimed, so loud, he surprised even himself with his enthusiasm. “Buckingham Palace. I’ve only ever seen it in books and magazines. To be finally here” he continued “It’s….well…it’s such an honour.”

“I can’t imagine what you’re gonna be like when you step inside it then.”

“I know…I’m so excited I think I’m about to burst.”

“Not for another three months I hope”, Bucky quipped, looking out of the window. “Looks like they haven’t finished building those gates around it.”

“Rebuilding them, you mean”, Steve corrected.

 

(Repairing the gates outside Buckingham Palace after an air raid in 1940)

 

Bucky took a closer look from the inside as their hackie slowed to a halt in the inner courtyard. “Huh. Seems even this place didn’t escape the bombing.”

“Nothing escapes the bombing”, said Steve “You know that.”

“Except you, sweetheart. You’re bomb proof.”

“Incendiary bomb proof perhaps. But I have to tell you, I’m not immune to high explosive.”

“With those metal legs, you’d survive anything, Stevie.”

“Then that makes two of us then, mister metal-arm.”

“Not sure if that makes me bomb-proof. Besides, I’m more used to dishing ‘em out than taking ‘em.”

“Well, that’s what you’re getting honoured for today.”

Bucky hummed at that and then lapsed into thoughtful silence.

 

-*-

 

Ten minutes later, and they were gazing up at the foot of the grandest staircase either of them had ever seen.

“There’s no other way up?”

“Buck, they hadn’t even invented lifts when the palace was built.”

“Well how are you gonna get up?”

Steve sighed. “I’m not.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll stay down here. There’s plenty of places to sit and wait. The ceremony shouldn’t take too long.”

“To hell with that. You’re seeing me get this medal or I’m not receiving it. Till the end of the line remember, Stevie?”

“Stop being so damn stiff necked about this. You’re the one being honoured today, not me.”

“And if you hadn’t talked me down from that control tower, I wouldn’t be alive to collect this honour, now would I?”

He made a move to scoop Steve up.

“Don’t you dare”, Steve hissed. “Not in Buckingham Palace. I’d die of shame right here on the red carpet.”

“Well can you think of an alternative?”

“There aren’t any ‘alternatives’; there’s only one way up.”

And with that, Steve began to haul himself up the first stair with great difficulty.

“What the heck do you think you’re doing? You’ll kill yourself, you stubborn mule.”

“Then at least I died in the grandest building in England. Now get up those damn stairs Buck, or you’ll be late.”

“I’m not leaving you!”

Watching Steve struggle was utter torture. The steps seemed endless and deliberately steep, but then they were designed to impress foreign dignitaries, not to assist pregnant Omega boys with leg braces.

By the time he’d reached the top, Steve was wretching for air, his hair matted with sweat. Staggering a few yards further, he blindly stumbled against the balustrade.

“I’m sorry, honey…” he gasped. “I’m..I’m sorry…I…I can’t go on.”

“Damn you, Stevie. Why’d you have to be so brave?”

“Excuse me, may I help you?”

Bucky turned to see a young lady in a floral frock-coat carrying a dustpan and brush.

“Oh, could you please? We need someone cool for my fiancé to rest and maybe get a glass of water?”

“You’re here for the investiture in the ballroom?”

Bucky nodded.

“Well, there’s a big balcony to the right as you go in where your fiancé could sit to see the ceremony and I’ll see what I can do about getting him something to drink.”

“That would be very kind of you”, wheezed Steve politely, as Bucky guided him into the vast expanse of ballroom and over to the full-length windows.

“Looks like you’re leading me on the dance floor this time, honey”, he mumbled.

“The carpet’s way too thick for a decent jig, Stevie. You ain’t missin’ much.”

The cleaning lady opened the balcony door and placed a chair just far enough outside to receive a refreshing breeze through the net curtains.

“Is this all right, sir?”

“It’s lovely, thank you”, said Steve. “Now you’d better go speak to that official over there,” he told Bucky. “It looks like he’s taking names.”

“Can you see me okay from there?” fretted Bucky.

“What are you worried about? I’ve got the best view in the house. Now go and make me proud, my love.”

Steve wasn’t exactly telling the truth of course. Bucky was so far away he was a barely visible pin-prick, but his parting kiss filled Steve with joy, and he wasn’t about to deflate that joy with an uncomfortable truth.

“Oh, thank you, that’s really very kind” he said, as he was handed a cup of tea. This is even better than the water my fiancé asked for. He glanced into the depths of the china cup. “Oh and it’s china tea as well; none of that common Indian blend. I must say, I feel very privileged to take a sip of something that doesn’t need milk.”

“You’re very welcome” said the lady, her voice slightly muffled by the net curtains between her and Steve. “Did your fiancé find his place in the queue?”

“It seems so. Bucky never was much for queuing, or ‘standing in line’ as I think they call it over there, but that nice official in the morning suit has at least got him facing in the right direction.”

“Oh…so your fiancé is the American getting the V.C.?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Steve took a sip of his tea. “Of course, he doesn’t think he deserves it”, he continued “But he does. I swear he’s self-deprecating enough to be mistaken for one of us Brits sometimes. The trouble is, he flies a bomber himself so he doesn’t appreciate getting recognition for doing something that harms others.”

“That’s a very noble sentiment. I met that Dolittle chap once. You know, the one who did the first bombing run on mainland Japan? His thought processes were exactly the same.”

“Then there’s hope for us all”, said Steve. “I suppose you must see a lot of people receiving honours working here?”

“Oh yes, a great many. I try to be here for as many of the investitures as I can.”

Steve smiled. “Must be a funny place to work. Seeing all of life passing through. I used to work on the railways, but at least the passengers I had to deal with never worried about saying the wrong thing. If anything, a lot of them expressed themselves a little too well, if you see what I mean?”

The young lady giggled. “People rarely say very much on these occasions, actually,” she said.

“Well, it’s that list of 'dos and don’ts' you’re sent beforehand. It would be enough to put anyone off talking.”

“You get a list?”

“Oh yes”, said Steve “Not sure who sends it, but I can’t blame the US Air Force this time. It had some kind of official Royal seal on it.”

“Lots of things do, sadly. It’s difficult to trace where most of them come from.”

“Well, it’s worded in such a way as to frighten the living daylights out of anyone who would dare utter so much as a word to Royalty. Of course, with my Bucky, there was the added worry about what he actually called people. I think I managed to drill the “Your Majesty” into him, but he asked a question about “Your Highness” and “Your Royal Highness” that I just couldn’t answer. I told him to call anyone who wasn’t’ the King “Your Royal Highness” just in case. Did I do right?”

“Well, it’s certainly the safest thing to say.”

“Yes. He thought it was like everyone getting a promotion. Still, it’s not like anyone else Royal is going to be here, is it?”

The lady behind the net curtain distracted Steve from his question by asking another. “So, do you think Bucky will manage any words with His Majesty?”

Steve thought for a beat. “You know, now that you ask. I’m not sure what will happen. It all depends on what His Majesty asks. If he asks about the mission that led to the medal, he’ll get about three words, but if he makes general conversation, he might be hard pressed to shut the man up!”

“Well, if they want to chat, the official won’t stop them, that up to my…that’s up to the King.”

“At least I’ve briefed him not to mention anything about the abdication. It’s bad enough that an American was the cause of it”

“I’m sure His Majesty won’t hold that against him.”

“It’s funny though”, said Steve.

“What is?”

“That Bucky comes New York and His Majesty was formerly the Duke of York.”

“And you come from York yourself, don’t you?”

“Is my accent that obvious?”, Steve smiled, turning around just a little.

The lady took a half step back behind the lace. “Not really, but I read about you in the notes.”

“Ah”, Steve sighed for a moment, before his eyebrows soared to his hairline. “…I was in the notes?”

“Well, you talked him down, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but…I had no idea the notes were so detailed.”

“The King might ask anything, so it’s best to be fully briefed I suppose.”

“Oh, well…if he starts asking about me, we might be here until supper time. Bucky doesn’t know when to stop. Talk about love being blind!”

“Why wouldn’t he want to talk about you?”

Steve snorted. “A pregnant crippled Omega boy who can barely get up the stairs unaided? I’m hardly a suitable subject for polite conversation.”

“On the contrary, I dare say you’re his motivation.”

Steve pondered that for a beat. “You know, you’re right. I can’t explain exactly why, but…but I’m sure that you’re right.”

“I can. It’s because he loves you so very much.”

 

-*-

 

“Well done, Captain Barnes.”

“Thank you, your Majesty”, Bucky managed, as the King of England pinned the dull bronze medal inscribed with the words “For Valour” to his uniform.

Although he exuded the unmistakeable scent of Alpha, Bucky was surprised how slight the King’s build was. His Royal Navy uniform didn’t quite disguise a sunken chest that rather comfortingly reminded Bucky of his own fiancé. King George beamed a beatific smile down at him, before confiding. “You know this kind of honour is very rare. We don’t hand these out like sweets, or should I say ‘candy’?”

“I’m very conscious of that, sir. I often get to wondering what it is I’ve done to deserve it. Oh, have I just said that out loud?” Bucky gulped to himself. Was he refusing the honour, or slighting it in some way? He missed Steve being with him so much… “Shit, I mean…oh…oh shit did I just say that?”

Alpha anxiety leaked from Bucky’s over-starched collar, countered by the reassuring bass notes of a Regal Alpha’s voice.

“I do believe you did”, said King George with an amused grin on his face. “Perhaps we should start this conversation back up again?”

“That would be very kind of you, sir,” agreed Bucky, desperately wishing the thick carpet would swallow him up.

King George’s smile softened as he began. “Now, from what I’ve heard, this isn’t an honour just for you…”

Bucky suspected as much, and the King was about to confirm that. This was a nice little present to show the Americans how grateful the Old Country was to have them on side. Bucky had already prepared himself for those words.

“Indeed”, the King continued “I believe this is an honour both for you and for your fiancé Mr.Rogers.”

Bucky hadn’t expected that. “Huh?”

“I read the report. He helped save your crew as surely as you did, didn’t he?”

“That’s exactly my sentiment sir”, said Bucky “But I can’t get him to acknowledge a word of it of course.”

“Of course not. I’m the Duke of York, or rather was, before my own honour of Kingship was ‘bestowed’ on me”, he continued with just the slightest hint of bitterness to his voice. “So, I recognise self-deprecation from a local of my city.”

“I’m from New York myself”, said Bucky.

“Indeed. You know your city wasn’t actually named after York, but after me?”

“Huh?”

“It was named for the Duke of York back then.”

“Really? Wow! I didn’t know that, your Majesty.”

“Oh, you’ll find I’m full of useless information”, grinned the Royal Alpha. “So, will you be taking Mr. Rogers away from his home in Vyner Street?”

The King must have been very well briefed. Bucky couldn’t believe he even knew the Street they lived on.

“I don’t think so, sir. His mum and his aunt live there with him. My Alpha obligation is to him and the family; the ‘pack’ that he is a part of. I’d never take him away from them.”

“And I’m sure you’ll always be welcome there, if only to keep digging their vegetable patch I imagine.”

Jeez, this damn King knew everything.

“Well, I’m hoping to transition from gardener to husband soon, sir.”

“Such a transformation will require a ring. Do you have the ring yet, Captain Barnes?”

“My mom sent me her Omega Grandfather’s engagement ring over, but as for the wedding ring, I hadn’t given the matter much thought until I knew I would be safe and secure here. I didn’t want to marry my Stevie and then have to leave him.”

“That’s all taken care now though, yes? I gather your interview went well, and from what I hear your fiancé is a dab hand at maiming lecherous Alphas. I wish I’d been there seen him kneecap that scoundrel!”

Bucky’s mouth hung open.

“If you don’t close that soon, a Spitfire will fly in”, chuckled the King. “Well now, if you’re staying in London for the rest of the day, might I suggest a visit to Hatton Garden markets? There are a great many exquisite jewellery shops there, and their prices are surprisingly reasonable.”

Bucky laughed lightly. “Do I tell them you sent me, sir?”

“I doubt they’d believe you if you did”, King George shrugged. “Besides, everyone thinks I live in luxury, so such blatant name-dropping would only inflate your price.”

Bucky looked around him. He had the good sense not to remark on the splendour, but the King anticipated his question.

“All this is just for show of course. We don’t actually live in these grand rooms, you know? Lillibeth says she’d much prefer a little cottage in the country, and I’m inclined to agree with her.”

“Lillibeth?”, queried Bucky.

“My eldest daughter,” the King clarified. “She always comes to these occasions. As my heir, she’ll soon be presenting these honours herself, so she likes to see how it’s done. Naturally she doesn’t like to draw attention to herself so she usually hides out on the balcony.”

“The…the balcony?”

The balcony where Steve was watching was directly behind Bucky. He couldn’t turn his back on the King, that was one of the big no-no’s in the ‘Do’s and Don’ts.’

King George slapped Bucky heartily on the back “Don’t worry; I’m sure they’ve entertained each other splendidly. Now you’d better go, or I’m never going to finish this ceremony, and you’re not going to get to the shops before they shut, but it’s been a pleasure meeting you, Captain Barnes. I wish you and your lovely fiancé all the luck in the world.”

“Thank you so much, your Majesty”, said Bucky, sincerely.

 

-*-

 

“It’s a very old tune now, but Bucky seems to like it, so it’s become our song.”, said Steve

“I’m sure you have a beautiful singing voice.”

“There must be some lovely music played in here. Some really fancy concerts.”

“Yes, but they can get be rather stuffy you know? I think I’d rather listen to your song over most of them…oh, what a pity, here comes your fiancé now. Well, it’s been lovely talking to you Steve.”

“The pleasure’s all mine…erm…oh dear…I’m dreadfully sorry; it’s very rude of me, but I never actually asked you your name…”

Steve didn’t receive a reply.

…

“Hello?”  
…

“Stevie, c’mere”, hissed Bucky.

Steve struggled to his feet and waddled gamely over to his fiancé.

“Well, how did it go, honey?”

“Never mind about all that. Have you been taking to someone out on the balcony?”

“Yes, that lovely cleaning lady gave me a refreshing cup of tea. We have ever such a nice natter, but don’t worry…” he added quickly “I was watching you getting your medal. You spent a very long time with His Majesty.”

“Yes, we had quite the chat.”

“You see? You needn’t have worried. You have an easy way with Royalty, Buck.”

“And it seems I’m not the only one.”

“Sorry?”

Bucky smiled to himself. “I’ll explain it to you back in the hackie.”

 

-*-

 

“So, what you’re telling me, is that I spent five minutes talking to Princess Elizabeth, our future Queen, as if she was the cleaning lady, and you said “shit” to the King, not once but twice?”

“That’s about the size of it”, said Bucky.

“And yet somehow neither of us is locked up in the Tower of London?”

“Nope, we’re in Hatton Garden, thanks to a certain Royal person’s advice.”

“I can’t believe any of this. It’s like some kind of a dream.”

Bucky smiled to himself. It seemed his fiancés innocent trust in his little English God was matched by his instinctive deference to Royalty. Steve hadn’t stopped blushing from the moment he’d been told the secret identity of his conversation partner.

There was simply no need for it. Of course, the King had heard the word “shit”. He was pretty sure His Majesty would have used it himself more than a few times, and of course he warmed to Steve as a brave and loving Omega. He wouldn’t have been much of an Alpha otherwise. He was happy that the King of England was a good man, and would say as much to anyone who ever challenged it, but that didn’t raise the King’s status beyond the realm of a mere mortal, as some English newspapers tended to infer, Steve’s included.

Still, his fiancé’s deferential opinion wasn’t any different from the rest of the population, and his quaintly sentimental reasoning just added to the romantic charm of his sweet and gentle Omega boy.

“Honey, I’m sorry but could we please sit down? I’m still feeling a bit tired after that staircase.”

“Yes, I noticed going down wasn’t much better than going up.”

“She’s not all that big yet, but our baby bump’s putting me out of balance, I think”, Steve blushed adorably.

“Well, this looks like a nice big shop, so let’s try here.”

The old-fashioned bell on the door rang out and a sprightly older Alpha lady in a well-worn tweed skirt and jacket bustled out with a chair in her arms.

“Here we go”, she said, in a deep fruity voice.

“Oh, thank you. I’m much in need of that”, gasped Steve.

“Now, how about a nice cup of tea?”

“That’s very kind but I don’t want to impose.”

“What nonsense. I’ve just made myself one. The kettle’s just boiled. And for you sir?”, she asked Bucky.

“Nothing thanks.”

“Ah…okay, one 'nothing' coming right up”, she grinned.

Steve looked at the rings in the display case in front of them.

“I wouldn’t know where to start, honey.”

“Don’t worry, just relax.”

“Here we go. One cup of tea for you” the Alpha lady handed Steve a cup and saucer “And one 'nothing' for you” She handed Bucky the same.

“But I…” Bucky broke off. The scent of a freshly brewed cup of joe hit him right in the nostrils.

“How did you…” he gasped.

“Call it an educated guess”, she completed. “My late husband used to visit Chicago to see his cousin just after the Great War. He used to pick up a few luxuries now and again. This is the last of them, so I’m glad to share with someone who appreciates good coffee.”

“And this IS good coffee” approved Bucky “It’s even better than what they make at Rainbow Corner.”

“Cheap stuff for the servicemen”, she dismissed. “This is, what I believe you Americans call, ‘The Real McCoy’.”

“It sure is. Thanks.”

“So, I take it you’re here for a wedding ring?”

“How did you know?”, asked Bucky.

“It’s my business to know, young man. That and the engagement ring on your fiancé’s finger and the interesting condition he’s in all goes to indicate there are wedding bells in your future. The only question is, are you looking for complement or contrast?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow”, said Steve.

“I’m taking it you want to wear your engagement ring on the same finger, in the Omega boy tradition?”

Steve nodded.

“Then any ring you wear next to it will either complement the original ring or form a bold contrast to it. What you don’t really want is for the rings to clash in some random fashion. Not when you’re going to be living with them forever.”

Bucky liked that word. Forever. It was a very special word. He knew there was no such thing as forever; he knew through painful experience that life was fleeting, but it was nice to think of Steve in terms of eternity and to heck with the harsh realities of chance and lifespan.

“I’d rather the rings complimented each other, please,” said Steve.

“I had a feeling you’d say that. May I?” she held out her hand

Steve slid Bucky’s engagement ring off his finger and handed it to her.

“Hmmm…18 carat”, she said, examining the band with a magnifier. “A lovely soft buttery yellow with a slight rose tint. The hallmarks are badly rubbed, so it must be very old.”

“An heirloom”, Bucky confirmed.

“It’s most likely Irish gold then; very difficult to source because the mines were exhausted many years ago.”

Steve’s face fell.

“The closest equivalents now are the Welsh mines, but even they’ve been running low since Edwardian times. If memory serves, I think I still have a couple of relics from that era hidden away in the back room.”

She returned a few moments later.

“So, here’s your engagement ring”, She placed it on a dark blue velvet cloth under a strong light bulb. “And here’s a couple of Welsh gold rings of the same carat.”

“That’s one’s perfect match”, exclaimed Steve. “Come and see, honey.”

“It is. A little shinier than the engagement ring, but an identical colour.”

“Well your engagement ring has only dulled because of age. I’m assuming it was given to an Omega boy?”

Bucky nodded soberly. “My grandfather.”

“It’s always been the style for girls to favour rings with lots of glittery stones, but Omega boys tend to favour the more practical plainer rings. I’d be happy to polish the engagement ring up for you for free, and no you don’t have to buy anything from me. The tea, the coffee and the polishing is my personal gift to you.”

Her voice had just the right mixture of sincerity and matter-of-fact business sense that made Bucky both warm to her and believe her.

“Would you like to try it on?” asked Bucky.

Steve nodded nervously. Bucky picked up the ring and tentatively slipped it onto his fiancé’s finger.

It was a perfect fit.

“Oh honey, it’s simply wonderful. It’s not too heavy for my hand and it’s so comfortable that it feels like it was made just for me.”

The Alpha lady smiled. “If you’d like, I can issue you a receipt for the engagement ring whilst I polish it. That way you have the chance to look around some of the other shops in the quarter before they close.”

“Thank you, but I don’t think we’ll be going anywhere else, ma’am”, said Bucky.

“But you don’t even know the price yet?”

“It costs what it costs”, Bucky shrugged. “You don’t strike me as the kind of lady who would take advantage of us, and we’re here to buy a wedding ring.”

“Well, it’s an older style ring and not terribly fashionable right now. These days everyone’s going for palladium for utility.” She pulled a face at that observation. “The average gold ring is about two week’s wages, that’s £15, but I’d be happy to let you have this one for half that. In fact, let’s round it right down to £6 shall we?”

“That’s incredibly generous. I feel I’m taking advantage.”

“I’m sure you’ll use what you save towards a house deposit won’t you?”

“One day very soon”, said Bucky wistfully.

“Then it’s my pleasure to make a contribution by saving you money now.”

“Oh honey, this is like a dream come true”, cooed Steve.

“Well it has to stay a dream until we name our wedding day, sweetheart. You can’t have this on your finger until then, but I’ll be sure to show it to your Sarah and Nat for their approval.”

“And Becca of course”, Steve added.

“Oh no, Becca would just get jealous”, Bucky chuckled.

The Alpha lady returned with her cleaning materials, and a gorgeous purple velvet box for the wedding ring

“Oh my”, gasped Steve. “That box looks fit for a King.”

“Well now, I couldn’t possibly comment on the kinds of customers we get in this shop”, she winked, shimmying her cloth over the engagement ring. “But you might not be all that far wrong with your observation, young man.”

Bucky grinned. His new buddy, the King of England, clearly gave very sound advice.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckingham Palace was indeed bombed in September 1940. Whilst that's slightly out of the timeline in terms of our tale, I know my lovely readers will appreciate my need to rearrange a few historical details every now and then to make a good story!


	32. Uncle Sam's eye

 

“What time’s the train back home?”, asked Steve, as they re-entered the glittering lobby of the Hotel Russell following their successful shopping trip to Hatton Garden.

Bucky glanced at his watch. “Not for another couple of hours. We have plenty of time to…”

Bucky’s gaze was distracted by a figure standing by the reception desk. An older gentleman sporting a very British moustache but wearing in a very American Uniform gave him a subtle nod of recognition.

“D’you think you could do a really big favour for me, sweetheart?”

“Anything for you, honey. What is it?”

“Could you go on ahead and pack. I believe I need to speak to this gentleman.”

It only took one look for Steve to understand. Even to a civilian, it was clear by the uniform that this serviceman held a very high rank.

“Oh, I em…erm…I see what you mean. I’ll go and pack.”

Bucky and the Brigadier General watched Steve waddle off into the lift.

“Smart kid”, the older man said. “Y’know this hotel’s gotta pretty swanky bar. You maybe wanna talk in there?”

 

-*-

 

“So, what do I call you, sir?”, Bucky asked, passing the man a pint.

“The name’s Ross, Thaddeus Ross. Back in the day they used to call me ‘Thunderbolt’ though that’s not exactly accurate anymore. But I don’t hold with ranks either. Just keep calling me sir when you need to, everyone else does.”

“Thank you, sir”, Bucky said nervously.

“So, I gather you’re in the market for a way out of the country?”

Bucky nodded. “It’s an option I’d like to investigate sir. Rumour has it you’re the legal expert in these matters.”

“Fury’s been waggling his tongue around again I see…no, don’t deny it,” he continued, seeing Bucky was about to cut in. “It’s okay. I know what you did for the service identifying a particularly rotten apple in our barrel.”

“If you mean Pierce sir, I think you’ll find my fiancé had more to do with it.”

“Your fiancé damn near killed him,” Ross said, before adding, with a smirk “And I only wish I’d been there to hold him down while he finished the job. The nation owes you one. It owes you both one. So, now that you’ve got the ring, when are you planning on having the wedding?”

“How do you know I’ve got the ring, sir?”

“Oh please,” huffed Ross with an amused grin. “As if we haven’t been trailing you the moment you stepped out of Kings Cross Station at 10:26 am and 11 seconds yesterday morning.”

Bucky didn’t know whether to feel reassured, or violated.

“Then you know about Rainbow Corner?”

Ross shrugged. “Just about anyone can sweet-talk their way into there; I won’t hold that against you. Especially when you defuse the kind of situation they had last night. And honestly, who do you think smuggled that hokey old record into jukebox for you? We don’t sneak 1929 songs in with the Glen Miller and Andrews Sisters medleys for just anyone yknow?”

“How did you even know we’d be in a position to dance, sir?”

“I hoped. Call me an old-fashioned softie if you like. Actually don’t, I’m not in the mood, but the desk sergeant said there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. They say you even let him lead you”.

“It’s always been our way. Steve leads and I gladly follow.”

“Well, you might have just gotten a Victoria Cross off the King, but there’s nothing braver than letting an Omega boy lead you on the dance floor in my book. I’ve just got to find a way of helping you, now haven’t I?”

Bucky took a mouthful of his ale. Ross sounded sincere but top brass was difficult to gauge and he felt hopelessly out of his depth.

“Before we start, you mind me asking why?” asked Ross.

“Hmmm?”

“Why you want Mr. Rogers out of the country, I mean?”

Bucky swallowed the ale and the last dregs of embarrassment at the same time.

“York’s constantly getting bombed. I can’t protect him there, sir. I love him, and I can’t live without him”

“Well, there’s an honest answer at any rate. What about his mother and aunt?”

“I doubt I’d get them out too, would I sir?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, are they in approval of your plan?”

“They don’t know about it sir. I’m pretty sure they would be, but there’s no use in raising their hopes only to dash them. My own parents know of course. They’re practically screaming at me to get him out of England before something bad happens.”

“And your sister?”

“Even more so.”

Ross nodded. “Okay, look, here’s the deal, Barnes. Once you’re married, your husband is entitled to a US passport. I’ve spoken with our embassy and they’re only too happy to issue you one on a fast track basis. He should get one within a month of the wedding, at the very latest.”

“That’s great news sir.”

“Now, hold your horses. It ain’t all that great. Mr. Rogers is a civilian. Even if he held a rank, it would be with Canadian rather than US forces, which means he has to be treated as a civilian.”

“And that’s bad sir?”

“If you want to get him out of the country, it is. We don’t airlift civilians, and if we make an exception, there’ll be all hell to pay. He’d have to take a ship, and we all know the risks to ships on the Atlantic at the moment. He’s a lot safer taking his chances on land with air raids, than on the ocean with the U-boat wolf packs still at large.”

“But Becca was flown sir.”

“Your sister is a medic, Barnes. She has a vital wartime qualification. Mr. Rogers is a secretary, with a side-line in news reporting. As far as protected occupations are concerned, he’s just not that important. And there’s something else too,” Ross added quietly. “This is completely confidential you understand Barnes, but I spoke to someone high up in our embassy. They told me Mr. Roger’s passport would be approved, but the background checks would identify his disability.”

“So?”

“So, that’ll downgrade his passage out of England too. I wish I didn’t have to say that, but it’s the truth.”

“But our own President has Polio,” Bucky gasped.

“The President of the United States was born a US citizen,” Ross noted, grimly. “Which means he doesn’t have to go through those kind of background checks, but if he did…”

Bucky sighed. He knew Ross was telling the truth. His attitude left a little something to be desired but he was beginning to understand that he’d been spending a little too much time absorbing polite English sensibilities. Real life held harsher lessons than Steve’s Sunshine song.

“Is there any good news?” Bucky asked.

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought there was no hope at all. But it’s going to mean making a lot of sacrifices, Barnes. How far are you prepared to go for Mr. Rogers? It could get pretty mean.”

“If it was a choice between my Stevie and my country, I’d gladly spit in Uncle Sam’s eye.”

Ross chuckled wickedly. “Let’s hope it never has to come to that. But if you want to play mean, then the best idea would be for you to exert some not-so-subtle pressure on the weakest link in your chain.”

“Steve?”

“Hardly,” snorted Ross. “I mean Stark.”

“Stark? Stark’s the very opposite of weak. And how could he possibly help me with this problem anyhow?”

“He could delegate some kind of liaison role to you with the US Air Force at Thurleigh.”

“And how that would help me?”

“It wouldn’t. Not directly, anyhow. But once you’ve got a foot in the door. Well, Thurleigh is always looking for War Correspondents to boost support for the European campaign back home.”

Bucky’s face brightened.

“That kind of position doesn’t automatically qualify for a military rank, you understand, but it would entitle Mr. Rogers to formally enlist, though he’d have to undertake a certain amount of basic training.”

“Are you kidding?” exclaimed Bucky. “How the heck would you get a heavily pregnant disabled Omega boy to run an assault course?”

“You wouldn’t, but the barest minimum a soldier needs to do is to defend themselves and others. Fury probably recommended me to you because he’s contributed evidence to a project I’ve been leading this past 6 months to modify the minimum entry requirements for foreign civilians joining the US Air Force. He appreciates that my concern not to lose talent through unnecessary training has direct bearing on your particular situation.”

“And when will this project be ready sir?”

“Pretty soon now; the principle’s been established with my superiors, it’s just a matter of bureaucracy and a series of important signatures in the New Year. Through my influence I might be able to arrange for Mr. Rogers to be assessed and recruited on this less arduous basis.

“So, what would that involve?”, Bucky asked.

“He’d still have to know how to handle a gun and a knife, and it would be a considerable advantage if he could demonstrate some mechanical knowledge to improve his chances of passing as a specialist with the US Air Force, since journalism can’t be assessed militarily and he lacks the physical attributes needed to be a pilot.”

Bucky eyebrows furrowed.

“Look, Barnes. Can you teach him to shoot straight and handle a hunting knife, or can’t you?”

“He’s never even seen a gun in his life before, let alone fired one.”

“Good,” said Ross “You won’t have to school him out of any bad habits, will you? And in your position at Topcliffe, I’m pretty sure you’ll know some friendly mechanics who’d agree to help out too?”

Beth, the ever-friendly Australian engineer, popped instantly into Bucky’s mind. He nodded hesitantly.

“Now all of that’s doable, isn’t it?”

“You’re trying your best to persuade me here, aren’t you sir?”

“Of course, I am. I told you before, the nation owes you one.”

“Then it’s got a funny way of showing it.”

Ross sighed heavily. “It’s always been the way, Barnes. One hand doesn’t know what the other hand’s doing, if you’ll pardon the expression,” he glanced at Bucky’s metal arm. “This is the only way I know that might safely get him out of this country, but there’s only a very narrow window of opportunity open for him.”

“Sir?” Bucky felt desperate, was this already threadbare rug being pulled from under him?

“The revised guidelines for recruitment should be ready by March of next year, but your Mr. Rogers is due to give birth in April, right?”

Bucky nodded.

“If you marry too soon, the new rules won’t apply, because his US passport will have been issued too early for him to qualify for the scheme. But if you marry too late, and Mr. Rogers gives birth, then he won’t qualify because the guidelines only assess individuals. Once he’s been admitted to the US Air Force, then it doesn’t matter how many children get on that ‘plane with him, but Rogers needs to be one single entity at the time of his military assessment.”

“So, it’s March or nothing sir”

“Pretty much. I know it doesn’t give you much time to plan the wedding.”

Bucky snorted. “I’d marry him next week if I could.”

“Don’t”, warned Ross.

“If this works sir, and I appreciate it’s a very big ‘if’, would the US Air Force offer him any assistance settling into civilian life on the other side?”

“I think you need to concentrate on getting him into the military first, Barnes. What happens to service personnel after discharge isn’t my concern anyway. But what I do know is there’s a chronic shortage of good newspaper reporters in New York, and a position as a war correspondent would make a very attractive calling card for any prospective job applicant.”

 

-*-

 

“And then he just burst into tears in front of me, and wouldn’t be comforted. He’s putting on a brave face for the folks at Vyner Street, but I can tell he’s still real upset with me. I just don’t know what he’s so upset about?”

Becca put her hands on her hips. “James Buchanan Barnes, for a smart guy, you can be really REALLY dumb sometimes.”

“What?” Bucky protested.

“Look at this from Steve’s point of view. You’re in your second trimester and your hormones are starting to nag you like crazy to settle down and find a place to nest for the baby. And you’re presented with this ‘genius’ solution to all your problems which involves you learning to kill people, repairing ‘planes and rushing headlong into a marriage, a passport application and a job interview, all within a few weeks of your baby being born. And your ‘reward’ for all this frantic effort it to be torn away from your home, your family and your country?”

“I don’t understand. I thought you approved of all of this? It’s the only way to keep him safe.”

“I do approve. And using cold hard logic, I agree it’s pretty much the only way. But neither your logic nor the US Military’s rulebook is gonna make any kind of sense in Steve’s world.”

Steve’s world. Yes, Steve’s world. The world of Vyner Street, bedtime prayers for the King, treacly camp coffee and soft feather beds. A world where the air raids rain death and destruction down all around you, but nothing can touch you if you’re armed with a walking stick and a stiff upper lip. A world where you really could paint the clouds with sunshine.

He loved Steve, and he loved Steve’s world.

But Steve’s world was not the real world.

Becca broke into her brother’s thoughts. “Does the wedding really have to be rushed through quite so fast, Buckaroo?”

“What are you talking about? March is a whole three months away.”

“Believe it or not, that isn’t all much time to organise. Most weddings in America take far longer than that to plan.”

“But we can keep it small, surely? Just the church and a reception back here, or at Topcliffe”, said Bucky. “We’ll have to get down to the US embassy in London for the passport straight after so we can spend a couple more nights down there as the honeymoon.”

Becca rolled her eyes. “Look, my shift starts soon so we’ll have to talk about this later, but you’re starting to scare even me, let alone Steve. You can’t hold a reception at Vyner Street, it’s way too small, and have you thought to ask Stark’s permission for a reception at Topcliffe? Is it even licenced to hold public events? You’re planning to invite dozens of people to crawl all over a military airfield. Have you any idea how many security protocols that would break?”

Bucky shrugged. “We’ll just have to find somewhere else, then.”

“And with that attitude, you’re going to absolutely terrify him. You need to think things through, and offer some solutions, not just a series of half-baked suggestions. And honestly, Barnes, going straight to the American embassy? A ‘working’ honeymoon? How unromantic is that?”

Bucky lingered on a bench in the hospital reception for some time after Becca left. His sister was right. He was so caught up with the particulars of Ross’ proposal that he’d tried to drag Steve along with him on a giddy wave of enthusiasm. At that rate, his fiancé would probably call off the wedding before it even happened.

 

-*-

 

“So, I’m guessing you’re going to be spending tomorrow enjoying yourself back home, Mr. Rogers?”

“I’m sure you'd prefer me here sir.”

“Oh, I do. But I’m pretty sure your family need you more.”

“They can prepare for Christmas without me, sir. It’s not as if we have the rations for much, and there’s no tree to decorate. My Aunt tried to bring the tatty old fake one from the pub but apparently that was part of the fixtures and fittings. Funny that she could keep a piano but not a Christmas tree. Says a lot about people’s priorities, doesn’t it?”

Although their relationship wasn’t exactly starched and formal any more, it was unusual for Steve to become conversational around his boss. Stark picked up on the change immediately.

“And what are your priorities for this Christmas, Mr. Rogers?”

“To get through it,” Steve sighed, leafing through a set of mismatched technical schematics.

“That doesn’t sound like you. Is something wrong?”

“It’s nothing sir. Would you like me to type up that report this afternoon?”

“Don’t give me that, Mr. Rogers. I can scent your sadness and, though I might not be the most perceptive Alpha in the pack, I can tell you’re hurting and I hate to see you hurting. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“You can’t do anything about it,” Steve murmured.

“I never said that I could. I just wanted to know what was bothering you.”

Steve eased himself onto the chair opposite Stark’s desk, grateful to rest his legs if nothing else.

“Bucky’s got this hare-brained scheme into this head that he’s going to persuade Thurleigh to make me into a war correspondent.”

Stark shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that in principle, I guess. You’ve got the journalism skills.”

“That’s not the half of it. He wants to train me up for the military and then smuggle me out to America.”

“Ah. That sounds…complicated,” Stark conceded, choosing his words carefully.

“I’ll say. A hundred things could go wrong with it, even without the fact that I don’t want to be turned into a vicious killer or to leave my family here and run away from my nation like a coward.”

“I’d hardly call you a coward, Mr. Rogers,” said Stark pointedly. “And I doubt there’s anything any military in the world could teach you about being vicious beyond what you’re capable of doing already, as demonstrated in this very room. It took the cleaners a week to scrub the last of Major Pierce’ giblets out of the carpet.”

Steve had the good grace to blush.

“As for the rest, well you don’t need me to explain that leaving England would probably be safer for you and the baby, but of course that’s your choice to make.”

“Exactly,” shot Steve. “It’s my choice to make, not his. He just vomited this crazy idea up in my lap and now he expects to manipulate me into doing things I’m not comfortable with just to fit in with his precious schedule.”

“I think I know you well enough to understand that you don’t like being told what to do”, Stark admitted.

“No, I jolly well don’t; especially when it’s clear he hasn’t the slightest clue about how he’s going to make his plan work.”

Stark nodded. “I deeply sympathise. He came here yesterday with some cockamamie scheme for me to grant him a position to liaise with Thurleigh. Now I understand what he’s got in mind, it makes a mite more sense, but I did feel obliged to point out to him at the time that it would need some kind of justification. I’ve been doing the job perfectly well on my own up until now, after all.”

Steve shook his head. “That’s Bucky all over. He’s got a brilliant idea but no details on how to carry it out. He’s going to fall flat on his face very soon. In fact, he already has, with me. I’ve been giving him the evil eye since Sunday afternoon.”

“And we all know what a withering eye that is”, agreed Stark, entirely without sarcasm.

“Details aren’t his strong suit. Why can’t he work that out?”

“Because he’s stubborn. Not unlike you, Mr. Rogers.” Stark sighed “Are you at least comfortable with Bucky’s scheme in principle?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say comfortable sir. It’s only been a couple of days, after all. I need more time to get used to an idea.”

“But, if we wait, he’s only going to make things worse for himself. There’s nothing else for it, Mr. Rogers. We’re going to have to save Barnes from himself.”

“But how?”

“By filling those bloody great holes in his plan before he falls headlong down into one of them.”

 

-*-

 

“Wait up!”

The hackie screeched to a halt. With some difficulty, Steve leaned forward in his seat to open the rear passenger door.

“What are you doing here?” asked Steve, coldly. “I thought you’d be home by now. There’s no training scheduled for today.”

“I had some paperwork to complete”, Bucky replied, clambering in.

“You? Paperwork? What kind of chaos am I likely to come back to after Christmas?”

Bucky blanched. “No, it’s not what you think. This was for Stark; he’s working on something.”

“Oh”, Steve nodded. The squadron leader was nothing if not tireless. “Well, if it’s for Stark then that’s different.”

The hackie picked up speed once they’d left the airfield, and Steve lapsed into a sullen silence, staring out of the window.

Bucky couldn’t take much more of this. Treading on eggshells wasn’t easy, and the discomfort of being separated from Steve’s love and comfort for so much as a moment was physical and emotional torture to him.

“Stevie”, he said, tilting his neck submissively towards his Omega. “I…I was very wrong. What I said to you was selfish and stupid. I didn’t think about what hearing my plan must have felt like for you. I’d like to say that I worked that out for myself, but I didn’t. It took Becca to explain it to me. I’m just so bad at understanding feelings.”

“I need to know why you’re doing this”, Steve said, in a dispassionate tone, his gaze still firmly set on the countryside as it descended into twilight.

“This is only to do with your safety, sweetheart. I love your country, and I love Vyner Street, and I love your family…but I love you the most. The closer you get to having our baby, the most scared I get of losing you. When this is all over, we can come back, I swear.”

“I don’t want to lose my family.”

“Then I’ll find a way, but I won’t pretend I know how. Not yet at least. You come first.”

“That’s a welcome change”, said Steve. “You’ve been pretending you know too much lately.”

Bucky immediately knew what his fiancé meant. “Yes, Becca put me straight on a lot of things”, he muttered, his eyes downcast “She said I’d thought nothing through at all.”

Steve turned back to face his Alpha. “So, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, here’s what you could do. You could let me lead.”

“Like on the dancefloor?”

Steve nodded.

“But you don’t even want this. Why would you want to take charge of it?”

“I’ll feel more comfortable with the situation if I’m controlling the pace of it.”

“But that’s out of my control as well.”

“The deadline’s in my control…well, sort of,” he patted his baby bump. “But you’re right, mother nature isn’t going to wait forever.”

A fresh burst of maternal pheromones drew a shy doe-eyed smile from Bucky.

“Once your friend Ross lets you know the paperwork is ready, we’ll have precious little time to play with. But we can still prepare some things in advance, so there are less unexpected surprises.”

“That’s still a lot of work to do for just the two of us, sweetheart”, warned Bucky.

“But it won’t be just the two of us. I’ll get everyone we know to help out. Between us all, we can get a lot more done and there’ll even be time to plan for some of the things that might go wrong too.”

“That sounds very methodical.”

“Makes a better secretary of me, Buck.”

“Peggy would be very proud,” Bucky smiled.

“I’ve no doubt. Maybe I should pay her back by making her a bridesmaid or Omega boysmaid or whatever it is they call it.”

“I think she’d like that. But if she ends up catching the bouquet you throw at the end, I’m warning you, Stark will not be happy.”

Steve smirked at the prospect as Bucky leaned over and tapped the driver on the shoulder “Could you stop just here please?”

“Here?” the thick-set Beta asked. “But why? We’re in the middle of no-where.”

“That’s not…entirely true”, Bucky said, as he leapt out of the cab and marched purposefully into a little copse of trees at the side of the road.

For a while, Steve and the driver sat in stunned silence, before the driver yelled out of the window “Oi, you can’t be doing that!”

“There’s an extra shilling in it for you.”

“Oh…” the driver shrugged. “Fair enough mate. Just you be careful, all right?”

Steve tried to see what was going on, but in the rapidly descending twilight, he couldn’t make out anything beyond Bucky seemingly fiddling about on the roof of the taxi. He arched a questioning eyebrow up at his fiancé as he clambered back in.

Bucky roared with laughter at the sight. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he said, tucking a ball of string into his trouser pocket.

By the time they’d reached Vyner Street, Sarah and Nat were already standing on the doorstep like a welcoming committee. Even Spitfire had joined them, circling the red-berried holly bush in the front garden impatiently.

“Well, now I’ve seen everything,” said Steve. “What the devil are they staring at?”

He found out the moment they stepped out the hackie.

Bucky had tied a small but perfectly formed Christmas tree onto the luggage rack.

“What the...wait a minute…did you just go and steal this tree?” Steve demanded, hotly.

“No, it just hurled itself onto the roof. Lucky I had some string handy, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t cheek me, Bucky Barnes. You were outside for less than a minute. You couldn’t possibly have sawn through a tree trunk in that time. Besides it was practically pitch black, you’d have cut your own hand off.”

“I don’t think I’d be able to saw through my pure aluminium paw, Stevie.”

“True enough, but you can stop stalling and tell me what actually happened?”

Bucky flashed Steve a rakish smile. “Let’s just say I identified a likely looking candidate earlier in the day and made a mental note of where I’d…‘encouraged’ it to topple over.”

Before Steve could say anything further, the welcoming committee was upon them. “Isn’t this fancy?”, cooed Sarah as she helped Bucky untie the string. “The neighbours will be so jealous. I can already see the net curtains twitching. We’ve not had a tree down Vyner Street since the Christmas of ’38!”

“Do we even have any decorations left to hang off it, mum?”

“Well, if you don’t have anything to put on it I’m sure Spitfire will scale it, he’s eyeing it up already,” winked Nat.

Bucky hauled the tree through the hallway and into the living room.

“It would be better in the parlour, I think”, said Sarah.

“But we barely set foot in the parlour,” protested Steve. “And it’s so cold in there.”

“Exactly. It’ll last longer.”

“We could always put it near the door and leave it ajar” Bucky suggested “That way we can see it without making a special trip.”

“Spoken like a true compromiser, honey”, Steve smiled.

Bucky’s heart glowed with pride. Compromise was the name of the game from now on. If Steve wanted to involve their little circle of friends in making his dreams come true, then he wasn’t going to complain. Steve could lead, and he would gladly follow.

 

-*-

 

“So, what do you want to do this evening?”

Despite being enveloped by the reassuring miasma of his ‘pack’ scent, Bucky had looked uncertain and uncomfortable ever since they’d eaten their dinner. And not just because the constant diet of vegetable stews at Vyner Steet had a habit of giving him gas.

“It’s just…”

Sarah nodded encouragingly.

“Normally at this time of year I’d be going to Midnight Mass with my folks”, Bucky said

“You can always go to St Wilfred’s. It’s not very far,” said Nat

Buckys eyes lowered. “I’m used to going somewhere with my family.”

“I’m sorry”, said Sarah.

“No, I don’t mean my family in New York, I mean you guys, my new ‘pack’, my family in York.”

Steve’s sunshine smile practically lit up the room.

“Well, we can all go to their Christmas Eve service together if you want. It’s just that…well…being Anglicans; we wouldn’t be allowed to take communion in a Catholic service, that’s all.”

“No”, said Bucky, firmly. “I don’t want you to go somewhere you’d feel uncomfortable either. Is there a Church service we can all go to?”

“I’m sure there’ll be an evening service at the Holy Trinity” said Nat “I used to hear it ringing the bell every Christmas Eve when I ran the Royal Oak”

Bucky’s memories flooded back to the graveyard of Holy Trinity Church where he and Steve had been to lay flowers at Clint’s grave and the grave of Steve’s Grandma Rose. Somehow, sad thought that event was, going back for a happy family occasion together seemed fitting. Perhaps it could be a dress rehearsal for a certain wedding in the non-too-distant future?

“How would you feel about going to a Church of England service?”, asked Steve, interrupting Bucky’s thoughts

“Would I get stopped from taking communion?” asked Bucky.

“No, of course not”, said Sarah. “It’s just there’d be a lot less incense and a lot more Christmas carols.”

“Well, that sounds perfect to me”, grinned Bucky, his ears still ringing with wedding bells. “Lead the way!”

And so, a couple of hours later, Bucky, Steve, Sarah and Nat placed their Christmas wreaths on Rose and Clint’s graves a day early, and squeezed inside the medieval walls of Holy Trinity Goodramgate to listen to a very jolly vicar speak of a very jolly English Jesus seemingly born in a manger during a picturesque snow flurry, surrounded by robins and visited by cheery shepherds clad in flat caps and tweed jackets. To Bucky, this ultimate expression of Steve’s gentle English God was neither more nor less authentic than the smells and bells he’d have got at St. Wilfred’s Roman Catholic church, but what made it special for him wasn’t the sermon so much as the company, and the sweet, sweet voice of his beautiful sunshine boy.

“You should have been a chorister,” he whispered in Steve’s ear between verses in the final carol.

“And who’s to say I wasn’t?” came the enigmatic reply.

“Steven Grant Rogers, you’re a mystery wrapped in a riddle. How deep do your layers go?”

“Perhaps you’ll get to uncover a few more by tomorrow morning,”, his fiancé teased.

“Well, whatever happens, I’m gonna look forward to the unwrapping.”

Steve rolled his eyes indulgently and launched himself into the final verse of “God rest ye, merry gentlemen.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Christmas at Vyner Street (sorry we're celebrating a month late!)


	33. Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A particularly fluffy Christmassy scene for all you Stucky lovers. Sorry it's a month out of season!

 

Christmas Day dawned grey and bleak; as befitting an English midwinter morning. The sky held no prospect of a nativity snow storm, as the vicar had foretold in his Christmas Eve sermon, nor were there any robins peeking in at them from the windowsill, but it really didn’t matter.

The sounds of movement on the landing outside their room alerted Bucky that his little English family were up and about. Snuggled in the crook of his arm, his Stevie snuffled and mewled in his sleep. He never tired of gazing at that beautiful boy who had captured his heart and soul.

Stroking his golden hair gently coaxed Steve from his slumber.

“Good morning, sunshine boy,” Bucky whispered. “And a Merry Christmas.”

Steve yawned, stretched and then entwined his arms round Bucky’s shoulders, pulling him in for a deep kiss.

“And a Happy Christmas to you too, honey. Do we have anything exciting in our stockings?”

“I’ve got all the present I need right here” Bucky growled, rubbing his hand over his fiancé’s baby bulge.

“You sweet-talker, you”, giggled Steve.

Bucky stumbled out of bed to the end of their bedframe where their stockings were tied up, as was the English tradition. “You coming over to look?”

“I should. I really should but…something’s making it difficult for me to leave the blankets today”, Steve conceded.

“That’s okay. I’ll bring them over to the bed.”

Bucky snuggled back in beside Steve, handing over his stocking.

“Time to see what Father Christmas has left for us.”

“Father Christmas?”

Steve turned to his fiancé “That’s what we call him, yes?”

“Who?”

“The man who delivers the presents”

“Well, I’d probably call him dad, because that’s who really delivers them”

Steve elbowed Bucky playfully in the ribs “Who told you that? It’s a filthy lie. Father Christmas is real!”

Bucky chuckled. “But in America we actually we call him Santa Claus or just plain Santa”

“Well, our kids are going to call him Father Christmas and that’s that”, pouted Steve.

“Whatever you say, dear.” teased Bucky, in sing-song tones.

“Now, let me see…what do we have here?”

Steve carefully disinterred a small gift from its newspaper wrapping. “Oh how marvellous!”

“What is it?”

“A matchbox of course.”

“And what’s in it?”, asked Bucky, assuming it to be the outer container for something small and wonderous.

Steve rolled his eyes “What do you think’s in it?” He slid the box open to reveal the red-tipped matches.

Steve continued in much the same way, revealing three balls of wool in assorted colours, a thimble and a pack of darning needles, all of which he reacted to with unfeigned glee. It all came to a head as he discovered a real orange at the bottom of the stocking, which he insisted on eating right there and then.

“You’ll get juice all over the blanket.”

“It’ll wash. Anyway, I want to stay here and see what you got.”

Bucky’s gifts were similarly prosaic, only the balls of wool were replaced with two pairs of socks and a tie. True to form, an exotic orange lurked in the mysterious depths of his stocking’s toe.

“I’ll save mine for later” Bucky said, putting it to one side for Steve to eat on the special extra English public holiday on 26th December known as ‘Boxing Day’. He wondered if he could find a box to put the orange in for Steve, just for form’s sake.

“Now, if you take a look under the bed, there’s my special present just for you, honey,” said Steve.

Bucky retrieved a large newspaper-wrapped package and sat back down on the bed.

“It’s big.”

“Well, so are you.”

“I’m not quite sure how to take that,” Bucky smirked.

Steve wiggled his eyebrows as his fiancé disinterred the gift from the folds of newspaper. The dark cream sweater concealed within was enormous, thick and intricately patterned.

“It’s an Arran sweater”, Steve explained. “They’re very warm but the thick wool is difficult to knit.”

“It must have taken you months,” Bucky gasped.

“Just under four months to be exact, and I had to unpick bits of it several times when I’d got the pattern wrong, but it was well worth it. A labour of love for the love of my life.”

Tentatively, Bucky pulled it over his head worried that he might damage the knitwear. He needn’t have worried, it was the toughest looking sweater he’d ever seen, yet gentle on his skin and sheer bliss to his senses, saturated, as it was, with the delirious scent of his Omega boy.

“Remember when you said I was indestructible, honey? Well, I had a hard time keeping a straight face because I knew this sweater would make you practically bullet-proof.”

“You’re right enough there. Nothing can touch me in this, except you of course, because it really feels and scents like you’re touching me all over.”

“Oh, what a bother. I’ve gone and made myself redundant”, sighed Steve

“That, sweetheart, will NEVER happen.”

“Well, I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it. I hope you’ll love your present too.”

“You’ve already given it to me.”

“Your wedding ring was the main present, but I got you a little something extra.”

Bucky handed over a rolled-up manuscript tied up with a strip of red ribbon

“I didn’t know about your ‘wrapping presents up in newspaper’ tradition, but Sarah lent me this ribbon out of her sewing box.”

Steve unpicked the bow, to reveal a folio of Christmas Carols.

“Oh, I see how it is”, he said, in mock annoyance. “You want me to sing for my supper.”

“It goes without saying that you’re the entertainment in this house, Stevie.”

“You should have got a gramophone to give me a break.”

“What, and make you even more redundant than you think that Arran Sweater has?”

Steve shook his head with a weary grin on his face. “Remind me again why I fell in love with you, Bucky Barnes?”

“Because you’re the patron Saint for lost causes?”

“That must be it. Although you did have to ply me with liquor.”

“Gin and It”, nodded Bucky. You only had two though. I didn’t think they were that strong.

“They’re water compared to your powerful charm,” Steve grinned.

“The charm’s for you, and the Sunshine Song’s for me. Those are our special gifts for each other every day, my beautiful Stevie.”

Their sensuous kiss was interrupted by a tap at the door.

“I’ve boiled a couple of pans of water so you can have a proper wash today,” Sarah called from outside. “But you’d best hurry. It won’t stay hot for long.”

“Race you to the bathroom?”

“Heck no, you’re far too quick for me Stevie.”

“I’m not so sure. I feel mysteriously drawn to my orange-zest blanket this morning.”

“You’re daft as a brush, Steve Rogers.”

“Hey, that’s my line!”

 

-*-

 

What greeted them when they finally reached the bathroom was not what either of them had expected. A good six inches of bathwater steamed upwards, topped by a clinically astringent froth. Steve scented the air first.

“Someone’s been borrowing antiseptic from the hospital”, Steve said pointedly

“Oh wonderful, you’re going to smell like an operating room for the rest of the day!”, grumbled Bucky.

“Correction, WE'RE going to smell like an operating room for the rest of the day. You think I’m going to turn down the chance of sharing a bath with my big strong Alpha?”

Bucky grinned. “You just want to see me naked again don’t you?”

“Pah”, Steve batted the inference away. “I see you naked all night.”

“Yes, but with your eyes closed. Now you can drink in my masculine splendour.”

Steve snorted so loud, Bucky thought he’d overbalance himself and caught hold of his arm.

“Careful, sweetheart.”

“It’s you who needs to be careful. If you start to believe your inflated claims, you’re going to need a neck support for that enormous head of yours.”

“Been peeking again, have we?”

“Well, your manhood’s certainly not inflated,” smirked Steve.

“Which is just as well, given your reputation for biting ‘em”, quipped Bucky “Besides…”, he continued, slipping off his dressing gown “It’s not what’s between my legs that gets your motor running, is it?”

“True”, purred Steve, running his fingers through Bucky’s patch of dark chest-hair and scenting his fingers “You’re right about that honey.”

“Well, let’s not worry about your tongue getting all furry this morning. Not while we’ve got a safer alternative.”

Bucky and Steve enjoyed a blissful ten minutes of cuddling in the bath, with just the occasional touch of the washcloth to justify it actually being called a wash. Bucky loved the smooth feel of his fiancé’s baby bulge in the water and couldn’t keep his hands and lips away for a moment.

“Now this here, is the most precious gift I’m ever going to get, Stevie.”

“You appreciate you won’t be able to unwrap this one until April?”, Steve giggled.

“It’s well worth the wait. You’re well worth the wait. How…how’s she feeling right now?”

“Feels fine”, Steve sighed. “I didn’t know how I’d feel at this stage, and I was so scared that things might go wrong but you’re my rock, Bucky. I feel so safe and loved and I know that the baby will be too.”

Bucky’s heart was fit to burst with joy. Steve might call the shots on most things, but to know that he was succeeding in that singularly most important Alpha task, to nurture and above all to protect his Omega and baby, gave Bucky Goosebumps on top of the Goosebumps from the rapidly cooling water.

“Till the end of the line, my love. Now, let’s get you and your little April gift dry.”

 

-*-

 

“Oh, so you’ve finally deigned to put in an appearance, Buckaroo.”

“Becca!”

Bucky vaulted down the stairs to embrace his sister.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to come until this afternoon?”

“Yes, well, I don’t have to tell you the truth all the time, now do I?”

“You’re my sister. You NEVER tell me the truth,” Bucky laughed.

“Well I’m telling you the truth now; you should get back up those stairs and help your fiancé.”

Steve was wobbling unsteadily halfway down the staircase, gripping hard onto the handrail.

“Baby?”

“Sorry,” Steve gasped. “Just a touch of dizziness; I’m sure I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“May I?”

Only a few days ago, Steve would have staunchly refused such an offer, especially in the presence of others, but the palace staircase had taken its toll. His stubbornness was gradually ebbing away, as his frail body struggled to adjust to the balance of its heavier burden.

Bucky swept him up, baby and all, as if he weighed nothing. Maternal pheromones cut straight through the clinical disinfectant smell. Bucky sighed with contentment.

“So”, said Steve tone once was back on the ground. “What festive frivolities do we have planned for today?”

“We’ll have to start by decorating the Christmas tree”, Sarah called out from the living room.

Steve staggered his way in from the hallway.

“But we decorated it yesterday, mum. Why would we….oh…”

Bucky and his sister followed Steve’s gaze into the parlour, seeing what remained of the shredded Christmas tree lying forlorn on the ground.

“Spitfire’s been swinging off that blessed thing all night,” groaned Nat. “I tried adding pepper to the base of the trunk but that didn’t dissuade him,”

“Where is he now?”

“Hunting for his breakfast, most likely. I was going to save him a bit of meat, but I’m not sure he deserves it now.”

“Awww, Auntie Nat, don’t be mean”, pouted Steve. “It’s Christmas for cats too you know?”

“He celebrated his Christmas early by unwrapping the tree!”

“We’ll we’d better start re-wrapping it again, hadn’t we?” said Becca, lifting the tree back up and sneezing repeatedly in a swirling cloud of pepper.

“Well, Spitfire deserves his meat just for that moment”, laughed Bucky. “I’m gonna enjoy telling our folks about that sneezing fit.”

“Don’t you dare, Buckaroo.”

As Steve and Becca took charge of the tree, Bucky joined the Rogers sisters with their Christmas dinner preparations. In the steamy confines of the kitchen, the scent of his ‘pack’s’ excitement made his heart swell with pride just as it had at their crazy Thanksgiving celebrations. He was light-headed with sheer ecstasy of it all.

Blinking himself back to reality, he asked “May I help?”

“I don’t know. Have you ever made a Yorkshire Pudding?” Sarah asked.

“Nope, but I’m happy to learn.”

“Well, it’s really very simple”, she said “Take one medium mixing bowl, add six heaped tablespoons of flour with a touch of salt and pepper and then beat a couple of eggs up in it”

“That really IS simple” he agreed.

“Good old-fashioned English cooking. If it got any simpler, you’d be drinking hot water.”

“That’s pretty much what you and Steve were dining off earlier this year.”

Sarah nodded. “But we eat much better thanks to you and your vegetable patch.”

“Clint’s vegetable patch,” corrected Bucky.

“But you kept it going. He’d be very proud of you, I’m sure.”

Pondering those words, as he cracked the eggs into the bowl, was the first time Bucky had permitted himself to think about Clint for many months. For the longest time, he’d felt he’d let his buddy down so much that he’d never earn forgiveness, but standing there surrounded by his new family, Bucky felt he had achieved, or at least was well on the way to achieving, something which Clint would have really been proud of.

“Okay, that’s done. Now what?”

“Mix in little of this milk, but do it slowly, you don’t want to get any lumps in it. If you get any, stop and flatten them out with the base of your spoon.”

Bucky nodded and started the mixing process.

“So, what’s the rest of the menu?” he asked.

“Mostly what you’ve provided us. The parsnip harvest was particularly good, so we’re starting out with parsnip soup. Then Steve, Nat and I put our ration books together to get a nice plump chicken. Even so, it’s barely enough to feed all five of us, hence the Yorkshire pudding, which we’ll eat to fill us up so we don’t need as much meat.”

“Well, that explains all the flour in this recipe.”

“It’s traditional menu filler. Posh houses eat it as a starter, but Vyner Street isn’t a posh house.”

“No, but it’s a cosy one.”

“That’s my hope”, Sarah smiled.

“So, what’s going with the chicken?”

“Vegetables, roast potatoes, more of your parsnips, only roasted this time, and I’ve made some stuffing from sage, breadcrumbs and of a big tin of bully beef your sister ‘liberated’ from somewhere. I haven’t asked her where because there’s some things it’s best not to know about.”

Good old Becca. She really was doing her best to support them all, in her inimitable fashion. Their dad would be so proud.

“That’s enough milk now. You’ve got it to a batter consistency. In the last half hour of cooking, I’ll pour that into a deep baking tin and pop it in the oven until it turns golden and fluffy.”

“Like a cake?”

“A savoury cake, yes. With gravy I think you’ll find it’s surprisingly tasty.”

Bucky wondered what his family would think if he made them a Yorkshire Pudding. They’d probably not believe he could cook anything at all, so having some flavour would be a bonus.

“Thanks for letting me help, Sarah.”

“The more the merrier in here”, she beamed. “Now you run along and have fun with the kids.”

Back in the living room, the tree was back in place, much to the dismay of Spitfire, who had appeared mysteriously from the hallway and surveyed the impromptu repairs with a withering glare of disgust.

“Where's he been hiding?” asked Bucky.

“The cupboard under the stairs, I think” said Steve, from his seat at the dining table, where he was busily snipping away at an old newspaper with a pair of scissors “It’s entirely mouse and spider-free in there, but it’s a good place to lay low if you’ve been a naughty little kitty, isn’t that right puss?”

Spitfire cast Steve a look of languid disinterest and retreated back from whence he came.

“Anyway, I think it’s time I crowned you both.”

“Huh?”

Steve unfurled his handiwork with great ceremony, planting pointy paper hats on both brother and sister.

“Mercy me,” gasped Bucky. “Paper crowns, King George would be SO jealous.”

“I’m sure he would be. That Royal crown looks very heavy. You can barely feel these.”

“No, but I can see ‘em. I’ll bet I look ridiculous.”

“No more ridiculous than you always do, Buck”, quipped Steve “Or do you think it’s tarnishing that ‘masculine splendour’ of yours.”

“His what?” shot Becca.

“That’s what your brother claims he has.”

“HA! I’ve seen Buckaroo’s “masculine splendour” sitting on a potty. And it’s neither masculine nor splendid.

“He’s grown a little since then”, shrugged Steve.

“As have we all, but the rest of us don’t feel the need to boast about it.”

“And if anyone’s grown, it’s you”, Bucky said to Steve. “But you never boast about it, baby.”

“You know it’s bad luck to boast about pregnancies, especially Omega boy pregnancies, honey.”

“Well I’m damn proud of you and I don’t care who knows it.”

Steve flushed with embarrassment and staggered into the kitchen to crown his mother and aunt.

“What?” he challenged, catching his sister’s glare.

“I should tell you off, but really I can’t Buckaroo. You’re clearly so completely in love with that boy, it’s beyond parody.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“No, I’m actually quite jealous. You’ve got something real special there, and the more I see it, the more I know you two were destined to be together. You’re soul-mates.”

“And you think our folks will think the same when I get him back home?”

“I know it. They’ll be cooing over him and the baby like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Oh, I dunno. I can believe quite a lot from them."

"They're natural grandparents", Becca agreed. "You'll never get a moment's peace; you know that don’t you?"

Bucky felt ridiculously happy at the prospect.

 

-*-

 

Steve struggled up onto the piano stool, Bucky’s music in his hand, and started belting out carols for everyone to join in. It had the desired effect of bringing Sarah and Nat out of the kitchen. Bucky recognised almost all of the tunes and loved being part of the family chorus, but he insisted on Stevie singing a couple of solos just to hear his golden voice on its own, ending - naturally enough - with their special Sunshine song.

An affecting little present unwrapping ceremony ensued. With most of the shops filled with little more than empty shelves, even if you had the wherewithal to buy, practically every gift in Vyner Street was handmade. Steve’s knitting needles had clearly been aflame with activity, given the number of scarves, hats and gloves he dished out, but they were as nothing compared to that gorgeous Arran sweater suffused with his Omega’s scent currently draped around Bucky’s shoulders. Nat wasn’t much of a knitter, which was just as well, because Spitfire wouldn’t have given her a moment’s peace had she surrounded herself by balls of wool. Nor was she an artist, if the doodle of the turkey at Thanksgiving was anything to go by. But she was very handy with a needle and thread. At some stage over the last month, she’d surreptitiously crept into the boy’s room and emptied their wardrobe of anything they wouldn’t miss. Now, several shirts and pairs of trousers reappeared as good as new. It was as if someone had waved a magic wand over their tired old threads. Steve’s ragged shirts looked almost presentable again. Although Bucky preferred to see him out of them, he made a mental note to confess that to Steve only when they were back in bed together.

Speaking of which, Sarah had knitted and sewn together a beautiful big patchwork quilt as a present for them both. Bucky had wondered where some of the shirts he’d put into the laundry had gone. Now he understood. Sarah had carefully folded them into the new quilt for several days to let the Alpha scent infuse it. The effect on his fiancé was surprisingly powerful. Steve wouldn’t let go of it, even when they were playing party games like pin the feather duster on the turkey (Nat had kept her Thanksgiving masterpiece for the occasion), although no-one - Nat included - knew quite where the poor turkey’s tail should go. Half an hour later, he saw Steve sneak out into the hallway and watched as he dragged the quilt inside the cupboard under the stairs, started cooing softly to himself, and snuggled into its deep folds.

“What’s he doing under there?” Bucky asked “Surely he’s not looking for Spitfire?”

Sarah smiled and shook her head. “He’s not gone hunting for the cat. Can’t you tell? His instincts are kicking in.”

“Huh?”

“He’s nesting; making a safe space for the baby. It’s an Omega thing. Both girls and boys do it.”

“And don’t I know it” groaned Nat to her sister “I couldn’t get you out of that tiny attic room for days when you were having Steve, and it was such an unsuitable place. I had visions of you falling down the stepladder at any moment. At least your son’s choosing somewhere safer.”

“He won’t actually…y’know…give birth in there, will he?” Bucky asked uneasily.

“Oh, goodness no, it’s just his hindbrain talking. A throwback from the time giving birth was dangerous because it made you vulnerable to attack. We instinctively find a small space to line with soft things and familiar scents. It’s our safe space. Why do you think I added your scent to that quilt?”

“Honestly, I had no idea”, said Bucky.

“It’s not something you learn in school”, advised Becca. “You pick it up from your family. Our mom told me about it.”

“Then why didn’t she tell me?”

“Why should she? You’re an Alpha.”

“I just wish I’d known sooner,” Bucky grumbled “So I could have helped him choose a place.”

Nat shrugged. “It’s not a logical decision, as my sister showed with her ridiculous choice of the attic room,” she advised. “Your instinct kicks in, so you really couldn’t have helped him.”

“All the same, a cupboard under the stairs; and on Christmas Day of all days,” murmured Bucky. “He should be here with us.”

Sarah grinned. “Don’t worry, the smell of the chicken will soon draw him out, just you wait.”

Despite the continuing party games, Bucky felt he was missing another arm being separated from Steve, and he sighed with relief when the cooking scents roused his Omega boy from his reverie less than an hour later, just as his mum had predicted. And Bucky simply couldn’t stay upset for long. Steve wore a dreamy look of half-remembered pleasure. Clearly nesting was going to be an important comfort to him.

Whilst Sarah and Nat made their final preparations, Steve joined his fiancé at the table, gazing into Bucky’s eyes like he was going to be the main course.

“Stevie, snap out of it, for pity’s sake. You’re embarrassing me.”

“Whu?”

“It’s okay”, soothed Becca. “Besides its so cute. I wish someone would look at me like that.”

“Bucky?”, murmured Steve

“Yeah, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

Steve’s expression was hungry, but not for the chicken.

“Sweetheart, Christmas dinner’s nearly ready.”

“Hmmm?” Steve’s eyes were heavy-lidded with lust.

“There’s no reasoning with him like this, Becca.”

“Go on,” she smiled. “I’ll make your apologies.”

Bucky ascended the stairs with his Omega boy in his arms “The things I do for you”, he chuckled.

 

-*-

 

The dreamy expression on Steve’s face was even dreamer by the time they returned to the living room.

“You took his crown off at least?” asked Becca, eyeing Steve’s skewed and slightly battered looking paper hat.

“Funnily enough, no.” said Bucky “It’s the only opportunity I’ll ever have to make love to a King.”

Becca burst out laughing. “You’ve come back from London royalty obsessed, Buckaroo. Planning on going native?”

“Hey, if the red coat fits…” Bucky quipped.

Luckily, the soup course had slowed down the pace, and the family were just about to tuck into the chicken. A bottle of red wine was breathing in the centre of the table.

“Wow, fancy”, said Bucky, examining the label. “Where did you get a hold of this?”

“Have you forgotten my former occupation already?” smirked Nat, taking it from him to fill their glasses.

“You didn’t take it from the pub cellar did you?”

“The very place. Vintage 1911, and guarded for nearly that long by old Spitfire himself.”

Sarah handed them over their plates “Sorry about the soup boys, but I’ve saved you some for supper. Anyway, a very Merry Christmas to you all”, she concluded as they clinked their glasses together.

As meals went in Vyner Street, this was a veritable feast. Sarah had eked out the chicken as much as she was able, and the bully beef stuffing was suitably substantial.

“How’s your Yorkshire Pudding, Bucky?”

“Very tasty. I must say I’m pleasantly surprised. I’ll have to make some more.”

That swiftly stirred Steve from his reverie.

“You made this, honey?”

“I sure did.”

“We’d better chew carefully then,” giggled Becca. “There’s probably a mass of egg-shells in there somewhere.”

“I should be angry at you, sis, but I can’t be.”

“No, you can’t. I still remember you making our folks breakfast pancakes when you were six and forgetting to remove the shells.”

“I didn’t know you had to back then.”

“If you had to cook for yourself, you’d starve, Buck.”

“Good job I’ve got a family to feed me then.”

“In exchange for the vegetables you supply us to cook in the first place”, Sarah pointed out. “Credit where credit’s due there.”

Bucky glowed just a little bit inside, as he chewed on his Yorkshire Pudding.

Nor was it the only pudding to be had. After the dinner things had been taken back to the kitchen, Sarah reappeared with a steaming Christmas pudding.

“That’s…incredible,” gasped Steve. “Wherever did you get so much dried fruit?”

“Courtesy of old Mrs.Potts next door. She wanted our first Christmas with Bucky and Becca to be special, so she’s been saving up her dried fruit rations since the summer. I’m saving her a generous helping of course.”

“And there was no problem finding the rum to soak it all in…” added Nat, turning to Bucky with a smirk “…from the same cellar.”

The pudding, served with a rich rum sauce, was even more intoxicating than he’d assumed. At one point he wondered if he should warn Steve off eating any more of it, for the health of the baby, and then decided pulling the spoon out his grasp would make for a terrible scene. Besides, everyone was entitled to get a little squiffy at least once a year.

“Well, I don’t know about you,” gasped Sarah. “But I think I need a sit down.”

“Lightweight”, huffed Nat. “There’s the Barnes’ Christmas cake to sample yet”, but she joined her sister on the couch nonetheless. Becca squeezed in beside them sleepily

“This dining chair’s a bit uncomfortable” Steve grunted, struggling to his feet and out of the door.

“Where do you wanna go, sweetheart?” asked Bucky.

He should have known.

Steve fiddled about with the catch on the cupboard door.

“Here let me”, said Bucky.

“Mmmm,,,thanks”

Steve sank gratefully into his nest. Then he looked up

“Wanna join me, honey?”

“In the close confines of the understairs cupboard, the scent of Alpha and Omega thrummed, but not in a sexual sense. There was something primal and comforting about it, probably triggered by the nesting instinct.

“You sure?” asked Bucky “I don’t wanna ruin whatever you got goin’ in here?”

Steve shook his head and raised an arm, beckoning his fiancé to join him.

Bucky sank in beside Steve, who pulled him into a tight embrace. Deep within his instincts, a switch flipped in Bucky from desire to protection. This was his Omega boy’s birthing space. Somewhere very special where he felt absolutely safe; where nothing in the world could touch him. And he’d invited his Alpha in to share that safety for himself. If anyone had said to him a year ago that he’d feel so happy and privileged to be lying in a dark cupboard under the stairs of a modest little house in the middle of a nondescript city in a foreign country, he’d have laughed in their faces.

But here he was. Here they were. In the midst of his beautiful family on Christmas Day, looking forward to the very happiest of lives together.

 

 


	34. Sandbag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve goes head to head with the US Air Force.  
> No prizes for guessing who's gonna win this one!

 

“It’s too damn cold to be outside today, Beth”

“Too bloody right, it is. Those fancy fliers don’t appreciate us nearly enough. They never stop to think while their heads are in the clouds that we’re stuck down here right up to our armpits in axel-grease and freezing our butts off just to keep them in the air.”

Steve cracked a wide smile, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “So, tell me again about the angle of these propellers?”

Beth grinned back. “Well, you see, it’s like this. Different parts of a propeller move at different speeds: the tips of the blades move faster than the parts nearest the hub. To make sure a propeller gives a constant force along its length, the angle of attack needs to be different at different points along the blade.”

Steve nodded thoughtfully. “The principle seems sensible enough.”

“It’s physics, Steve, Newton’s third law of motion to be exact. Not as if you’ll find many pilots who’ve even heard of him, let alone considered how his work actually explains the reason why their bloody great Lancasters don’t fall out of the sky.”

“Listen Beth, I haven’t had the time to thank you properly for helping me with all of this.”

“Awww,” she waved him away. “You don’t have to do that. It’s my pleasure. Anyway, you’d have made a pretty decent engineer. You’ve got the aptitude for it, and a reasonable grasp of the mathematics. I only wish we didn’t have to stand around in this cold hangar flapping our gums about it. You sure you’re warm enough to be here in your condition?”

Steve was swaddled up in several layers of clothing, with a blanket infused with Alpha scent draped over his shoulders. His overprotective fiancé had gone to town in ensuring he didn’t get cold, to the extent that it was all getting a bit embarrassing.

“I’m fine. If anything, Bucky put too much on me.”

“That’s Americans for you,” Beth quipped. “Always overdressing for the wrong occasion.”

Steve hummed an assent.

“And how’s the target practice going?”

“Oh, hopeless,” Steve groaned. “Bucky says I couldn’t hit a barn door at 20 paces, whatever that means. But I can point a pistol in the right direction, and I've got hold of one with a minimum of recoil, bearing in mind how the first gun nearly knocked me over when I pulled the trigger.”

“Will that be enough to pass the tests, do you think?”

“He seems to think so, and that’s good enough for me. Besides I’d far rather fix engines than learn how to kill people.”

“I hesitate to ask how the knife fights are going then.”

Steve shrugged a shoulder. “Well, that part’s relatively easy. So long as I don’t have to tackle anyone physically, which I should hope even the assessors would appreciate is beyond me at this stage in the pregnancy, knowing exactly where and how to shove a blade in an attacker’s body can be reduced to something almost as technical as fixing an engine.”

Actually, Steve wasn’t telling the whole truth. On a rational level, the use of weapons was a skill like any other, but he was no soldier, and no matter how much his fiancé wanted him safe, he could sense Bucky’s own hesitancy. He too appreciated the moral dilemma of bombing raids; so how much more the concept of cold-blooded killing.

And yes, it didn’t help when Bucky had told him to squeeze that trigger gently, and the result had been the opposite. Bucky was frantic with worry for Steve’s health when he’d been floored by the recoil and wracked by Alpha guilt for days afterwards. But this was a task that needed to be done if he ever had a hope of being admitted to the armed forces. They simply couldn’t stop now. Peggy lending Steve her smaller calibre WAAF-issue pistol was a workable solution to the physical, though not the moral difficulties.

On a happier note, the hospital had kindly offered to open up a little-used lecture theatre for the wedding reception, a much more practical solution than Topcliffe airfield. Stark had breathed a sigh of relief at that, and had even offered to help with the practical aspect of getting the room ready for the big day. The vicar at Holy Trinity in Goodramgate was on standby. All that was needed now was a date, but so far there was no word on that from Brigadier General Ross.

And time was running out.

 

-*-

 

“This is wonderful, Steve. You’re really progressing well.” Bucky grasped Steve’s hand, as Dr Banner gently felt around Steve’s swollen belly.

“Your third trimester’s coming along splendidly. I don’t mind telling you that I’d had my concerns about this stage, as you’re not exactly the strongest Omega boy I’ve treated.”

“No, but my Stevie’s the toughest and the bravest,” Bucky cut in, an immensely proud smile on his face.

“I can’t disagree with you there, Mr. Barnes. You’re bearing up under the strain magnificently, Steve. No additional problems walking about?”

“No more than I was used to have before. I mean, I waddle rather than hobble, but it’s not really slowing me down any. Although, the stairs are a bit of a problem now”

“I’m his solution”, said Bucky, simply. He didn’t want to dwell too much on carrying Steve as it embarrassed him that Bucky needed to do that. Even though there was no shame in asking for help when it was needed, Steve bridled against anything that nibbled into his hard-won independence.

“What about the emotional factors?”

“My nest under the stairs is progressing well. Bucky gives me his undershirts so I can scent him and calm myself in my safe space. And I often invite him to join me, because nothing scents like the real thing.”

The doctor’s eyebrows hitched. “That’s extraordinary. It says a lot about the pair bonding you two have”

Bucky swelled with pride, but Steve’s sigh quickly deflated that. “It’s not all plain sailing, though.”

“I never imagined it would be,” Dr. Banner responded, neutrally.

“The thing is…I get very teary and emotional over the smallest things, but most especially with this combat training. I wish I didn’t have to do this right now.”

“I told you before, sweetheart, you don’t.”

“Not here”, snapped Steve tetchily.

“I can sense some tension here, gentlemen. That isn’t good for the baby. Is there something I can help you with?”

“There’s nothing to be done”, Steve explained. “I have to learn a basic minimum of combat and engineering skills to be considered for enlistment in the US Air Force. That’s the only way Bucky can keep me safe, so I’m doing what he asked me to.”

“But you don’t like it, Stevie. At least, not the combat part. I didn’t plan on getting you to do things that make you upset, not for anything.”

Steve bit his lip. “I’m upset because of my hormones, as well as the moral issues that both of us share. But I’m getting on with it. Just because it’s necessary doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

The doctor nodded sagely. “Do you know what Steve will be asked to do yet?”

“No”, admitted Bucky “We’ll only really know on assessment day.”

“Which is when?”

Bucky’s eyes burned. “I don’t know.”

“Ah”, said Dr. Banner, turning to Bucky. “Well then, that’s your problem right there.”

“How do you mean?”

“Not having a date might not be the ultimate cause of the tension, but it’s a really aggravating factor right now. I don’t need to tell you that Steve has less than two months left to go of his pregnancy. You really need to find out when this assessment is going to happen.”

“I hate to say it, but he’s right, Buck”, said Steve as they made their way back to Vyner Street.

“I know, I know. But how much pressure can I put on a Brigadier General before he turns on me?”

“Could Stark help?”

“I doubt it. His intervention might be seen as interference. This is my problem to solve. I just don’t know how to go about solving it.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I need to put my feet up with a nice cup of tea”, Steve said, as they made their way up the garden path.

“I’m with you on the first, but I’ll pass on the second if it’s all the same to…”

Before Bucky could even finish his sentence, the door flew open and an excited Sarah dashed out to them with a telegram in her hand. “You have a date for the assessment”, she cried.

Spitfire briefly poked his head around the door to stare at the ridiculous human celebrations, before sauntering back indoors to enjoy some peace and quiet in the cupboard under the stairs.

 

-*-

 

And so, eleven days later, Steve was sitting in the pilot’s briefing room at Topcliffe in the same position he’d been in before when Bucky was assessed for his flying ability after the accident that cost him his arm, only this time it wasn’t Bucky in the hot seat. By order of Stark, Bucky himself had been deliberately warned away from the airfield and was currently wearing out the last of the pattern on the already threadbare lounge carpet back at Vyner Street. It was a sensible enough precaution. The scent of his Alpha’s anxiety would have done Steve no good at all. Instead, a certain Australian engineer with a far calmer temperament was keeping him company as he waited.

“So, tell me again about propellers?” Beth joked.

“That’s the fifth time you’ve asked me in as many minutes.”

“I know, but I have to take your mind off all of this somehow.”

“I just wish I knew what was going on. Stark said he was going out to meet the assessors, but that was over 10 minutes ago. I do hope nothing’s wrong?

“Do you want me to go and look out the window?”

“No. If they catch you looking out, you might get me in trouble.”

“You and your second guessing. Honestly, it might be nothing, and even…”

The front door swung open.

“Mr. Rogers”, said Squadron Leader Stark, in his most formal tone “Would you and your engineer companion care to join us in the main maintenance hangar?”

Beth helped Steve to his feet. Once he got going, Steve could achieve a fair pace using a curious rolling gait using the leg braces to swing his baby bump in a kind of oscillating pivot. Bucky didn’t like it very much; he thought it might harm the baby. But then again, Bucky had reached the point where he fearfully imagined anything and everything might harm the baby. Steve knew it was just Bucky’s protective Alpha instincts kicking in. Although there were times he’d dearly have loved to tell his fiancé to gain a much-needed sense of perspective, Steve was all too aware that life in York was becoming ever more dangerous. Both Sarah and Nat had come home empty handed from several shopping trips because of the intensity of the air raids in the city centre, but he’d been hiding that unwelcome surprise from Bucky because there was nothing his fiancé could do about it, and he couldn’t handle the bitter almond scent of Alpha distress in his condition.

And speaking of surprises, a truly unexpected surprise now awaited him at the door of the command hut.

“Mr. Rogers,” said Stark. “I believe you already know Colonel Fury?”

“Why yes…yes of course. I’m delighted to meet you again, Colonel.”

“Charmed I’m sure,” the mean-looking black officer smiled, giving Steve a very respectful peck on the back of his hand. “So, let’s talk as we walk.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

“Squadron Leader Stark has observed your firearms and weapons training”, began Fury, handing Steve a report sheet. “In short your report says you are perfectly competent at a basic level. You can hit a target and understand the basics of hand to hand combat.”

Steve blinked at the report sheet for several more seconds.

“But…this report…this report is blank sir.”

“But of course, it is. Squadron Leader Stark can’t type. His secretary will need to complete this for him after the interview takes place.”

Before Steve could form a coherent response to that, Fury continued. “Now tell me what you know about propellers?”

Steve duly explained Newton’s third law of motion as the four of them reached the maintenance hangar.

“That’s excellent”, said Fury “Now, could you please show me a wrench?”

Steve waddled over to the work bench and selected one at random.

“And what do you use it for?”

“This one in particular? Or wrenches in general?”

“Both.”

Steve told him.

“Well now, if I’m not mistaken, I believe that’s a carburettor on the work table over there. Would you please demonstrate what you’ve just told me?”

Steve duly loosened and then retightened a few bolts of appropriate size.

Fury strode over to him and shook his hand.

“Congratulations, son. Welcome to the United States Air Force.”

“But…but…”

“No, no need to thank me, it’s a pleasure speaking to such an able and well qualified candidate. With your aptitude, ability and sheer courage, which I’ve observed myself on a previous occasion, I’m personally recommending you commence on an officer grade. Naturally it would be unfair to other service personnel if we offered you anything above the lowest rank, so how does Second Lieutenant sound for a start?”

“I…I”

“Of course you’ll have to get used to pronouncing ‘Lootenant’ properly, instead of ‘Leftenant’, but you’re a smart fellah. I’m sure you’ll rapidly unlearn your bad habits.”

“Naturally sir; whatever you say.” Steve’s voice remained delightfully incredulous.

“Now, as a Captain, your fiancé has those two shiny silver bars on the epaulettes of his uniform. With your rank, you only get one, but it’s gold. And personally, I think gold is better than silver any day of the week, don’t you?”, Fury said, in humorous mock-conspiratorial tone.

Steve looked down at his gold engagement ring, which he knew would shortly be joined by the wedding ring they’d bought on their trip to London, currently tucked away in its purple velvet box within the depths of Bucky’s locker.

“I’ll need that report typed up and in my hands by 1300 airman”, Fury continued. “Do you know what 1300 is?

“That’s one o’clock sir.”

“Morning or afternoon.”

“Afternoon sir; in less than two hours’ time.”

“Well then, you’d better snap to it. Would you like to try a salute for me?”

This at least Steve felt confident doing. Bucky had taught him well.

“Excellent salute, Lieutenant Rogers. There you see, Squadron Leader Stark, didn’t I say the man had excellent potential?”

“That you did”, smiled Stark, shaking Fury’s hand warmly.

Somewhere just off the coast between Yukon and Alaska, an iceberg was rapidly melting.

 

-*-

 

“What?” The tone of Bucky voice sounded unusually hoarse, and high. He tried again.

“What?”

“You…want me to repeat any of that?” asked Steve.

“No…no I got it all the first time, it’s just…it’s just…DAMN Rogers.”

Bucky was never lost for words, but this was about as close as it got.

On the other hand, his mind was awash with thoughts and emotions. Fury seemed a fair-minded man, if a little intimidating in the flesh. But he didn’t expect this monumental concession. A part of him resented the apparent condescension of an Alpha paying back another for the harm done to his Omega, but of course he couldn’t be sure that was Fury’s true intention. That might just have been Bucky’s protective instincts kicking in.

After all, Steve had answered the technical questions asked of him, and ably demonstrated their practical application. It wasn’t his fault that the questions were ridiculously easy.

And Fury was also correct in stating that Stark had witnessed their weapons training. I mean, you couldn’t exactly practice firing pistols in private, right? He would have seen that Steve could point a gun in the opposite direction to himself and, whilst he missed the bottles placed on the wall, he at least managed to hit the wall itself every time. And as for the knives, well, he may well have witnessed Steve vanquishing a sandbag with his trusty butter knife, and promptly getting all teary-eyed about hurting the poor, ill-fated sandbag’s feelings.

But in the end, did that matter? When it came to the fight, Steve wouldn’t flinch in defending himself and those he loved, to the death if needs be. That’s what really mattered, and that’s what he figured Fury was basing his assessment on.

He pulled Steve into a tight embrace. “I knew you could do this, sweetheart. We’re together till the end of the line, ya hear me.?”

“That means…you can get married now”, said Sarah. She’d stayed silent, almost impassive, as Steve had relayed the details. Now her voice betrayed a strange mixture of joy and sadness.

Bucky was the head of their ‘pack’; so of course, he understood. Sarah wanted the very best for her son, and she knew Bucky was the best. But his safety meant their separation, and the anticipation of that pain was suddenly thrown into sharp relief with the successful interview. First the assessment, then the marriage and straight after that, the passport. Would she even see her first grandchild if Bucky took Steve away from her before the birth?

Bucky heard all that in the gap between her words. He was pretty sure his fiancé heard it too. He had to do something to stem the sorrow.

“You know, we can slow the pace down a little now”, he conceded “As long as the marriage and the passport come before the baby, there’s no reason why we need to leave England until after the birth.”

“You…you mean that, honey?” swallowed Steve, hope fluttering like a caged bird in his voice.

“Yeah. You’re safe here. You’ve got your nest here and Dr. Banner’s a terrific doctor. My folks adore you, but you’ll probably feel uncomfortable there for a little while. That’s only natural. I won’t risk your happiness in the toughest part of your pregnancy. You’ve survived the war so far, so where’s the harm in a few extra weeks?”

As Steve snuggled himself closer into his fiancé’s arms, Sarah mouthed a heartfelt “Thank you” to Bucky from behind her son’s shoulder. Though he depended more and more on Steve for direction, this was Bucky’s call. And a short pause for breath seemed the smart choice. This, at least, was one decision that Buck felt was absolutely right. Surely fate would keep his family safe for just a little while longer.

 

-*-

  
“You wanted to see me sir?”

“At ease, Barnes. Come take a seat.”

Stark flicked through the paperwork on his desk with a surprisingly relaxed air, as if all was right in the world and he’d only just realised it. He almost looked cheerful.

This wasn’t the Squadron Leader Stark Bucky had come to know, and his sudden domesticity, coming out of the blue as it did, was disturbing. In his mind’s eye, Bucky pictured Spitfire, who’d return fresh from slaughtering half the songbirds in the back garden and promptly snuggle up to Steve and Bucky in their cupboard under the stairs as if he’d spent all day doing nothing more vicious than batting a ball of wool between his plump calico paws.

“So, when’s the big day?”

“I’ve had a bit of planning to do, sir.”

“No doubt, no doubt”

“And co-ordinating things with the vicar of Holy Trinity, the US Embassy and the hospital, hasn’t been easy”, conceded Bucky. “The first available date is three weeks tomorrow.”

Stark glanced over at his desk calendar.

“That’s…Wednesday the10th March” Stark squinted suspiciously. “But…isn’t that your birthday?”

“A happy coincidence sir.”

Stark burst into peals of schoolgirl laughter. Something was definitely wrong.

“I’ve a question”, said Stark. “The church and the embassy I can understand. Those are appointments you have to time precisely, but what are you co-ordinating with the hospital? Steve’s isn’t likely to go into labour then, is he?”

‘Steve’. Stark had said ‘Steve’. Stark never said ‘Steve’.

“No, no; it’s nothing like that sir”, Bucky replied “He’ll still have over a month to go. It’s just that the hospital have kindly agreed to lend us their lecture theatre to hold the wedding reception. We had to double-check that no actual lectures were being planned there on the day. That old room’s dropping apart, but they still use it quite regularly.”

“Everything in this country is dropping apart”, Stark mused. “We’re on a permanent ‘make do and mend’ drive.” After a brief pause for reflection, he suddenly piped up “Tell you what? How would you appreciate a hand getting the room ready?”

“It would be nice if I could get some help to decorate the place sir”, agreed Bucky. “If only to cover up the cracked plaster and the mildew stains on the walls.”

“Then I’ll see what I can do about getting you some help. I’ll even get my own hands dirty…but on one condition.”

Oh. Here it came.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Sure, sir. Anything.”

“Peggy needs to be in charge of the decorations, she fancies herself as a bit of an interior designer y’see.”

‘Peggy’. Stark had said ‘Peggy’. Stark never said…oh…wait a minute….

…of course!

Bucky grinned wide. “Naturally I’d be very happy for Peggy to take charge sir. I’ve got a lot on my mind at the moment, and so many things to plan. I thought three weeks was a long time…”

Stark snorted. “Three weeks is nothing in wedding terms. Why, it can take months and months to plan a really good wedding.”

Bucky smiled. That ‘really good wedding’ was code for Stark’s own forthcoming nuptials; he just knew it. And Peggy was doubtless itching to practice in preparation for her very own big day. At least Steve would be able to throw his bouquet to a certain someone with confidence now.

 

 


	35. Drone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky makes the final preparations for his long-awaited wedding to Steve with all the hope in his heart...
> 
> ...just as the fortunes of war turn cruelly against him.

 

Bucky’s eyes flickered under their lids. He closed his embrace…but into thin air.

Steve was not there.

The panic was only momentary. Out of corner of his eye, he could see his fiancé sneaking about in the wardrobe. He closed his eyes again, not wanting to ruin whatever it was that Steve was planning.

The heavenly soft feather mattress dipped as Steve and his burgeoning baby bump snuggled back into Bucky’s arms. Maternal pheromones wafted into his nostrils. It was no good. He couldn’t pretend to be asleep with all those wonderful scents. “Good morning, sunshine”, he grinned.

Steve smiled back, a soft sappy smile. The kind of smile that spoke to Bucky’s instincts to love and protect and assured him he was doing the very best job an Alpha possibly could. He was hard pressed to control his emotions at times like this.

“Happy Birthday, honey”, sighed Steve, snuggling deeper, pressing his nose into Bucky’s chest hair, his little patch of happiness, unashamedly scenting Bucky’s masculinity.

“But my Birthday’s tomorrow”, giggled Bucky, “As well you know.”

“Yes, but tomorrow’s a special day for altogether different reasons.”

"You know it is, baby. Tomorrow you’re gonna be Second Lieutenant Barnes.”

“That’s ‘lootennat’, not ‘leftenant’”, correct Steve.

“I know that, I’m just pronouncing it the English way for you one last time. From tomorrow, we’re both gonna be American.”

“Not quite”, Steve corrected again “Our date with the Embassy is the day after.”

“Whatever”, Bucky drawled, in a throwaway manner.

“Anyhow, with tomorrow being our big day and you being banned from staying over tonight. I thought I ought to wish you a Happy Birthday today.”

Bucky shook his head indulgently. “You and your strange British traditions.”

Of course, Bucky appreciated that not seeing your spouse the evening before the wedding was a transatlantic tradition, but Steve didn’t know that, so Bucky had made a few token protests about the prospect of being exiled to Topcliffe Airfield for one final night before his married life with Steve could begin.

Bucky’s protests were altogether stronger when Steve now extricated himself from his arms, but were silenced quickly when his sunshine boy returned from fishing beneath the bed to present Bucky with the surprise package he’d just transferred there from the wardrobe.

“More newspaper?”

“You know that’s how we wrap things around here, Buck.”

“Then you’d better get used to Brooklyn, where we use real shiny wrapping paper that actually says ‘Happy Birthday’ on it.”

“You and your extravagant American luxuries”, groaned Steve.

Bucky accepted the package being thrust in his face.

“I hesitate to unwrap this. It isn’t a portion of fish and chips is it?”

“It’s a wee bit small for that! Besides, if it was, Spitfire would have been in the wardrobe…oops.”

Steve blushed so adorably when he let slip where he’d been hiding the present, even though Bucky had seen him in there, that he feigned ignorance.

“You shouldn’t be hiding things in dark places, Stevie. What happens if you suddenly take a liking to it and we have to rebuild your nest all over again?”

Steve snorted. “Not in the final month, honey. I’m not doing anything new in this final month. Baby’s getting big now.”

“She’s not ready yet. You gotta take REAL good care of yourself, okay sweetheart?”

“Well, with you to carry me about. I’m not going to take a tumble down the stairs any time soon, now am I?”

Bucky smiled as he unwrapped the newspaper. Inside were two carefully folded handkerchiefs.

“What’s this?”

“Take a good look at them.”

The two pieces of fine linen had been delicately embroidered around the edges in pillar box red and navy blue. Another, slightly less expert hand had embroidered the Initials JB-R and SB-R in the corners of each, in a rich royal blue.

“I found the handkerchiefs when I was going through the chest of drawers”, Steve explained.

During the last few weeks, Steve’s nesting instincts had driven him to empty, tidy and reorganise most of the storage space in Vyner Street. They’d turned up a lot of useful items, including a pair of Steve’s father’s silver cufflinks that Bucky wanted to wear on his wedding day. Bucky would have preferred it if Steve hadn’t been doing all of this when he was carrying an enormous baby bump around, but you couldn’t argue with instinct.

“So, when I saw the colour of these I thought of the red white and blue of our flags, but I wanted to do something special with them. Nat taught me to embroider so I could put our initials on them. That way we both have something old - the handkerchiefs, something new – my embroidery, something borrowed – Nat’s thread, and something blue”

“That’s just the Omega tradition, baby.”

“So”, Steve shrugged. “Now we can share in that tradition together.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. But he shouldn’t have been surprised. Steve shared his strong life and his brave dreams like sweets in the playground and Bucky was his very best buddy; he never counted the cost.

Steve felt gently around the back of Bucky’s head, carding the hair away to ease a thumb over the jagged wound, “Sweetheart, our future’s just like your scar, your arm and my legs. Sometimes it won’t be to be easy to adjust to the changes they bring, sometimes they’ll be hidden, and often they’ll be painful. But just as we’ve learned to live with them, so we’ll learn to live with whatever else comes our way; together.”

Bucky sighed, and folded his fiancé into a loving embrace.

“Oh God, I love you so much, Stevie. My beautiful sunshine boy, no matter what the future holds, you’ll always my dream come true. I just can’t wait for tomorrow to come.”

 

-*-

 

Steve’s little rosebud wasn’t due to make an appearance for another month, but – given the danger Omega boys faced in the latter stages of their pregnancy - he’d already been granted maternity leave. Bucky, on the other hand, still had to go to work, at least for the morning. Not as if he could concentrate on anything very much. Stark had put him on light duties, mostly checking on repairs to the Lancasters. In effect, that involved spending a couple of hours chatting merrily with Beth about how the final preparations were going.

“Stark’s been as good as his word. Over these last few days, two or three crewmembers have willingly volunteered themselves to paint over the cracks in the hospital’s old lecture theatre.”

Beth looked duly impressed. “So, when are the decorations going up?”

“This afternoon. Stark and Peggy are taking care of that personally. The three of us are going over there after lunch to get that done and bring over the wedding presents.”

“They’re not at Vyner Street?”

“Ha! Fat chance of that happening. In Steve’s current state of mind, he’d be tidying them away somewhere or other and we’d never see half of them ever again. Or else he’d be dragging them into the cupboard under the stairs and laying all over them.”

Beth sniggered. “He’s that bad, is he?”

“Sarah says she’s never known anyone nest so hard. If this was a competition, he’d nest for England.”

“You say that, but he’ll be nesting for the United States come Friday.”

“That’s the plan”, agreed Bucky. “All the paperwork’s in place. We just need to sign on the dotted line and then, once junior’s born, Stevie will finally be safe.”

“Will you be coming back once he’s settled?”

Bucky sighed. “I’m leaving that open. Brigadier General Ross said he could investigate the possibility of getting me a training role at an airbase in the States if that’s my preference, but I don’t want to let Stark down either. Not after all he’s done for me.”

“Maybe. But you’re no use to Steve if you’re killed in action.”

“That’s hardly likely to happen. I’m a pilot trainer now.”

“Something could still go wrong mechanically”, warned Beth.

“Then it’s a good job I’ve got you to repair ‘em for me, isn’t it?”

“You’ll not have me forever, mate. I’m only on secondment.”

Bucky pulled a face at that. “Has the Royal Australian Air Force said they want you back?”

“Not even a hint”, said Beth “But you know better than most that your own military can order you to do anything at the drop of a hat. I’m like a library book; on loan but subject to recall at any time.”

“Well you’re gonna have to clean those oily overalls if you want to be at Holy Trinity Church tomorrow.”

“Say what you will about me, Captain Barnes, but I’m one lady that scrubs up well!”

“Hey, Beth” one of the mechanics called out from the hangar door “When you’ve quite finished taunting the husband-to-be, Stark wants to see him.”

“No rest for the wicked,” moaned Bucky.

 

-*-

 

Bucky knocked politely on the Squadron Leader’s door.

“Ah good, come in, come in, Barnes. You’ve got a call coming through.”

“A call, sir?”

“You are familiar with telephones are you not, Barnes?” Stark smirked sarcastically.

“Of course, sir, but I haven’t had a call in this country since…”

Bucky’s stomach lurched. The last time he’d had a call was when Thurleigh contacted him at Rainbow Corner to reassign him. It was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him; would ever happen to him…but what if it was Thurleigh again, about to send him away?”

He knew that was an illogical thought, but his hand was still shaking as he tentatively picked up the receiver.

“H…h…hello?”

“Buckaroo?”

“Dad? Dad is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me, son. Your commanding officer arranged for us to speak to you.”

Bucky checked his watch. It was just after noon in York, so that must mean…

“You’re up at 6 in the morning? But you’re never up this early.”

“Watch your cheek, Bucky Barnes. You’re not old enough to deserve a good spankin’.”

Yup, it was George Barnes all right. Bucky knew he was just teasing of course, but he was mighty glad that Steve wasn’t around to hear that. His old man must have been hearing his thoughts, because his next words were…

“Is your Steve there? Can I talk to him?”

“No, dad. I’m taking this call from the Squadron Leader’s office. Steve’s back home in Vyner Street. He’s on his maternity leave now.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry, I hadn’t thought of that. I just wanted so much to talk to him. Becca writes about him often. I’m so proud of him. I’m so proud of you both. I’m the happiest Alpha dad in the world.”

“You…you really think I’ve done the right thing?”

Bucky knew the answer, but there was a tiny part of him that still feared and hesitated because he hadn’t been able to actually speak with his folks. Not until now.

“Are you crazy? Damn son, you’re marrying the bravest and noblest Omega boy in England. He’s everything me and your mom have ever wanted for you. I got two sons now, and I’m so happy I could cry.”

And then he did.

Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard his dad cry. The emotion nearly pushed him over the edge too, but before that could happen, he heard the handset at the other end being passed over from hand to hand.

“Bucky, honey?”

“Mom!”

“Oh, my sweet sweet boy. I’m sorry, it’s just that your dad’s getting a little emotional right now. We’re just so happy to speak to you. Dad wanted you to know he’s fixed up Becca’s old room into a nursery for the baby.”

“What does Becca think about that?”

“It was her idea! We didn’t know what gender your baby would be, so we’ve painted it cheery and yellow.”

“That’s perfect, mom.” It was too. Perfect for his sunshine boy and their sunshine baby.

“We wanted you to know how proud we are of you, Bucky, of both of you. You’ve been so strong and protective, just like we knew you’d be. You’ve kept Steve and the baby safe and soon we’re gonna be a big happy family again.”

Bucky took a deep shuddering breath. “Yeah, not long to go now mom.”

Having collected himself a little, his dad took the handset again. “Son, we can’t be with you tomorrow, but your mom and me…well, we wish you the happiest of weddings, and we can’t wait to hear about it from you in person, just as soon as the three of you get back home.”

“Thanks dad.”

“We’ve got to go now, son. This call is probably costing you a fortune. Have the happiest wedding and the happiest birthday ever. We’ll be thinking of you.”

Bucky replaced the receiver glassy-eyed. He swallowed hard.

“How much do I owe you, sir?”

“About five dollars.”

Bucky gasped involuntarily.

“Except that you don’t”, Stark grinned. “Call it an early wedding present. Now we’d better get going before Peggy puts all the decorations up in the wrong place.”

“I thought she was in charge, sir?”

“Yes, and we’re both gonna make sure she continues to think that.”

Bucky nodded sagely. “Got it, sir.”

 

-*-

 

  
Sure enough, when they reached the lecture theatre, their arms filled with wedding presents, some of them wrapped in actual wrapping paper rather than the newspaper favoured by the residents of Vyner Street, Peggy was already busily sticking up bunting so low that it threatened to throttle both of them as they walked in.

“You could have waited for me, Peg”, said Stark, giving her a peck on the cheek, and then blushing a little because he realised he was in company. “You’ll need a stepladder to get high enough to put those up.”

“But I didn’t know how long you were going to be,” Peggy protested. “I went over to see the blushing bride, and we had a good chat, but Steve’s just too excited to conduct a sensible conversation with for long. And then, halfway through, without rhyme or reason, up he gets and slides into a little cubby hole beneath the stairs. Talk about rude.”

“It isn’t rude, it’s instinct”, protested Bucky.

Peggy shrugged. “Anyway, I was happy to sit on a chair in the hallway and talk some more, but that damn cat was in there with him, hissing at me like I was a witch or something.”

“But you are a witch”, teased Stark. “You’ve charmed me, and I’m famous for having a heart of stone”

“Infamous”, Bucky chipped in.

“Yes, that too”, Stark agreed.

Peggy shrugged again. “Well, the calico beast seems to have made a home with him in there. Not as if I could smell a trace of feline for all the Alpha/Omega scent wafting out of that cupboard. Do you two sleep in there or something?”

“Sometimes,” Bucky confessed.

“How very odd. I’d always heard that Omega boys disliked Alphas in their nesting spaces.”

“Dr Banner would agree with you. But he thinks we’ve got an unusually close relationship.”

“I’ll say”, Peggy agreed. “You two act like an old married couple already. Now, would you help me with that paper lantern?”

Bucky placed the stepladder where Peggy indicated and ascended to the top, stretching up as high as he could with the decoration.

“Speaking of old married couples, how did this one propose?”, Bucky tilted his head towards Stark.

“As romantically as you’d expect”, Peggy sneered. “Tony might as well have said “How’s about it, old girl” for all the level of endearment I managed to squeeze out of him.”

“Er…Peg,” Stark hesitated, weakly. “He didn’t even know I’d proposed…until you just told him.”

“Oh, you sly dog”, she huffed to Bucky. “But I guess it had to come out sooner or later. You keep your trap firmly shut though, Bucky Barnes, or you’re going to have me casting spells on you, you hear?”

“Loud and clear, ma’am. Besides, I’ve got other matters on my mind right now.”

“That much is true”, she said, handing another lantern to Stark. “You too are romance personified. Goodness only knows how I’m going to stop myself crying at the ceremony tomorrow.”

 

 

-*-

 

 

Less than a quarter of a mile away, someone else couldn’t stop themselves crying.

“You all right, there, sweetie?”

“Yes, I’m….I’m sorry, mum. I don’t know what came over me. Now I’m getting the knitting pattern all smudged.”

Steve laid down his knitting and wiped his face.

“It’s just your emotions getting to you before the big day. It’s a shame Becca’s at work right now; she’s always been good at helping you with your mood swings.”

“She’s on a night shift?”

Sarah nodded. “Just until three in the morning. She left for the hospital over an hour ago, but she promised to come back here rather than the nurses’ home with it being your big day. I’m sure you’ll be asleep when she gets back and she’s going to need quite a bit of rest herself before the wedding. Speaking of which, perhaps you should be taking some rest too, son; it is getting quite late.”

“You’re right, mum. I’m not really thinking, or seeing straight anymore, and I don’t want to ruin this knitting. I always seem to get teary when I’m beginning to feel tired. I might just go and take a little…”

“Nat? What the devil are you doing with the back door open at this hour?” Sarah called, over Steve’s shoulder. “You’re letting in a terrible draught.”

A moment later, a blur of feisty calico fur flew past both mother and son from outside, barrelling straight through the living room and out into the hallway.

“Sorry”, Nat called back from the garden. “Spitfire was going absolutely frantic outside. I just don’t know what’s got into him.”

Sarah shrugged. “He can probably sense Steve’s mood swings.”

“It’s…possible I suppose.” Nat was about to close the back door, when something made her pause for a moment.

“Sis?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can you hear something?”

Sarah levered herself out of her chair to join Nat on the back step, as Steve struggled to his feet with a dreamy look on his face, lost in maternal thought, and shuffled off towards his nest.

“No, I don’t hear anything at all. Why, what am I meant to be hearing?”

“I dunno…it’s kind of like…a faint…kind of…droning noise.”

Sarah listened again, and then shook her head. “No, nothing. You’ve probably got tinnitus or something. You’ll have to come over to the hospital next week and I’ll get you checked out.”

“I’ll have you know I have excellent hearing”, Nat protested, tugging the back door firmly closed. “Why, I could hear a pin drop.”

“Doubtless in your former profession, you could hear the drunks fall over too”, laughed Sarah, leading her back into the living room. “But you’re not in the ‘Royal Oak’ now, Sis.”

Outside, as twilight began to fall over Bucky’s vegetable patch, the faint drone grew louder and more menacing.

Spitfire’s proficient hearing expertly filtered out the sister’s bickering, to hone in on that sound as it swelled to a deafening roar inside his head. He’d heard that kind of roar once before, and it had heralded the destruction of his best hunting grounds. This time, he would be ready for it. This time, he would fight to defend what was his.

Stealthily, he crept into the nesting space of his favourite human and - summoning courage from the countless generations of formidable felines before him - he readied himself for battle.

 

-*-

 

“Now, how’s that all looking?”

Stark walked back to the door and gave the lecture theatre an appraising gaze.

“Like Father Christmas and P.T.Barnum had a love child.”

“Again with the ‘Father Christmas’”, groaned Bucky. “It’s Santa Claus.”

Peggy brushed aside Bucky’s complaint, choosing to address her fiancés snarky comment instead. “Are you saying this place looks like a festive circus?” she demanded.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Then…it’s perfect. That’s precisely the effect I was looking for.”

“Well, if you think our wedding’s going to look like this, you’ve got another thing coming, my girl.”

Peggy’s nostrils flared. “Don’t ‘my girl’, me you great pompous oaf.”

Bucky didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Now, Peg…you know I didn’t mean it like…”

The Squadron Leader didn’t get the chance to finish. The ground shook violently beneath their feet. Somewhere, close by, they could hear the lively crash of window-panes shattering by the dozen.

“Get down!”, bellowed Stark.

For several more seconds, the ground shook repeatedly. Some of the tremors felt close to the hospital; others felt further away. And on each occasion, startled shouts of panic rang out in the distance.

Then everything went still. Ominously still.

Although he hadn’t experienced it before, Bucky could guess what had happened. What he didn’t know was whether the bombing was over.

Stark tentatively inched opened the door. “It seems clear for now” he whispered “But stick close by me, okay?”

The three of them crept nervously out into the corridor. Bucky peered into the adjacent hospital chapel. A few of the stained-glass windows had shattered onto the wooden pews below, but the place seemed deserted. However, the calm wasn’t to last. The main hospital corridor, when they reached it, was a scene of utter bedlam. Distressed relatives and the walking wounded from the casualty department, dashed about heedlessly. A few nurses were trying, and failing, to calm them down. Bucky didn’t see Becca amongst them. But he did spot a hospital porter heading in their general direction.

“What happened?” Bucky asked politely. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

The porter looked over the two Alphas in their uniforms, and nodded appreciatively. “Looks like we got hit twice, but not very badly. The front reception hall has a new exit smashed into the side of it, though there aren’t any casualties except for all these panicking people running into one another. But I hear the bomb that hit the back of the hospital took out the gas mains, which is why we had that big explosion and lots of broken glass. That’s all hearsay, mind. I haven’t had the chance to go over there and check out the damage for myself.”

Bucky nodded and turned to Stark.” May I suggest you check over the reception sir? It’ll be less dangerous there for Peggy too. I’ll go with the porter to the back of the building.”

“Are you mad, Bucky?” protested Peggy. “You’re getting married tomorrow!”

“I can take care of myself, Peg. But if the Squadron Leader had to deal with a problem and protect you at the same time, he’d be left in a difficult position.”

“And to think you questioned why you’d been awarded the Victoria Cross, Barnes”, grunted Stark approvingly. He gave Bucky a comradely pat on the shoulder, before leading Peggy towards the front entrance.

Bucky and the porter carefully picked their way down a deserted corridor. Most of the lights down its length had been shattered along with the windows, but luckily the sunset was gloriously bright that evening.

“Is it true sir?” asked the porter, a little sheepishly.

“Is what true?”

“That you got the Victoria Cross, I mean?”

“Yes, yes it’s true,” said Bucky distractedly.

“May I see it?”

“No, it’s at home, sorry”

“Oh”

“So…erm…what was it like then, sir?”. The porter scratched the back of his head and blushed.

Bucky was starting to become irritated. Although he couldn’t scent a gas leak, he needed to be on high alert for it, and answering this man’s incessant questions really wasn’t helping.

“What was what like?”

“Why, meeting his Majesty o’ course?”

Bucky smiled to himself. That old English deference to monarchy again; he knew it wasn’t confined to the Rogers family, but it still amazed him how much in thrall the English population were to their monarch.

“It was very pleasant”, he answered, tight-lipped.

Finally, the porter seemed to have got the message.

“That’s the back door just there, sir.”

The porter hung back a little as Bucky tentatively eased the door open.

An enormous smoking crater greeted him. The epicentre, about 100 yards away, was badly scorched. Around the edges, large pieces of shrapnel lay scattered about.

The porter stooped down to pick up the base on what appeared to have been a cylinder of some kind.

“I recognise this”, he gasped “It’s….oh…but of course,”

“What?” asked Bucky.

The porter’s shoulders sagged with relief. “It was a gas explosion alright. But not the kind of gas explosion I’d thought of. They’ve only gone and hit the medical gasses storage. These are the oxygen cylinders…or what’s left of ‘em at any rate.”

“Do you have spares left? For the patients that need ‘em, I mean?”

“Oh yes, this is just the reserve. There’s a much bigger store of them out front.”

“Do you think that was hit too? You mentioned the reception was damaged.”

The porter nodded “Yes, but nothing like this, sir. All the same, it might be best to check, just to be on the safe side.”

Bucky wasn’t an expert on German ordnance but, judging by the size of the crater, whatever took out the medical gas stores was no mere incendiary bomb. This was an explosive shell, the kind that could easily flatten buildings. He was just glad that the bombers had such a poor sense of aim. If their payload had struck the main hospital, with so many bedridden patients, then who knows how many would have died that day?

It didn’t take long for Bucky and the porter to retrace their steps now they weren’t creeping their way about the hospital compound, fearful of gas leaks. The nurses had brought most of their anxious patients under control too. A few cleaning staff were out sweeping away the worst of the broken glass in the main reception hall by the time they got back there.

“Everything okay, Barnes?” asked Stark.

“Yes sir. It turned out not to be a gas leak after all. They’d hit the building that stored the medical gas cylinders. Is there a big crater outside of here too?”

Stark snorted at that. “Peggy and I couldn’t exactly miss it, but whoever was dropping those bombs is well overdue a visit to the opticians Their main casualty was the ornamental flowerbeds! I dare say the condition of some of the fancy rose bushes out there is terminal but…”

Peggy suddenly dashed up to them, gasping, nearly doubled over with exertion.

“Huh? What is it Peg?” asked Stark “What on earth’s got into you?”

“Bucky…Bucky….”, she managed, half gasping and half sobbing.

“What…what is it Peggy?” pleaded Bucky “Please, you gotta tell me what’s wrong?”

In the absence of words, Peggy hurriedly pointed her finger…beyond the hospital grounds to the end of Haxby Road. It was only then that Bucky noticed the thick black column of acrid smoke spiralling high into the air. That evil pall of inky blackness seemed the very embodiment of the shadowy angel of death from Bucky’s childhood nightmares.

 

And now that dreadful shadow was creeping steadily upwards…

 

                                                                                                      …. upwards from the direction…

 

                                                                                                                                                                          …of Vyner Street.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: The next chapter won't pull any punches, dear reader. Please prepare to for the very strong sorrow, angst and character death to come in Chapter 36.  
> If you aren't feeling up to reading the story beyond this point, then I will understand.


	36. Rosebud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disaster overtakes Vyner Street. Grief overwhelms Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ADVANCE WARNING TO READERS: Please note this chapter contains multiple character death, high emotion, angst and grief. If any of these emotions trigger you, please do not continue reading.

 

Bucky and Stark sprinted away from the hospital and down Haxby Road. They reached the end of Vyner Street in less than a minute.

Or what was left of Vyner Street

The orderly parade of uniform little Victorian houses in the centre of the terrace was now shrouded by a thick blanket of smoke, above which hung a deathly scent, the keen miasma of sheer terror; that same horrendous stink he’d encountered when he’d headed into York after the bombing of April ’42; an evil stench of shock, panic, fear and pain.

Only this time, the scent-trail was still fresh, and the corpses still warm.

At the head of the street, a thin piece of rope had been haphazardly strung between two lamp-posts to form a makeshift cordon, guarded by an elderly Air Raid Patrol Warden wearing his standard issue black uniform and white tin hat.

“Sir”, Bucky gasped breathlessly. “Sir, my family live at No. 50. Can you please let me through?”

Just as with the hospital porter, the warden didn’t look at the men so much as their uniforms. He nodded gravely and lifted the rope for them.

As Bucky and Stark clawed their way through the smokescreen and approached the centre of the row of houses on Vyner Street, Bucky could just make out the ragged outline that had been the outside walls of No. 46 and No. 54 teetering precariously on the brink of collapse, their crumbling edges framing the carnage at the epicentre of an enormous explosion. All that was left was a sea of smashed bricks, scorched timber and shattered glass, heaped together in random peaks and troughs like solid waves of rubble. Smouldering embers deep beneath the chaos belched out plumes of sulphurous smoke that stank of burned wood, clothing, human flesh…

Bucky’s bottom jaw unhinged in shock. Most evenings, he’d walked home to his Stevie through a little wooden gate, passing by the weedy little holly bush in the front garden, the crooked alleyway to the right that Clint had once sneaked down, and that shiny black front door with the number 50 nailed to it. Bucky would walk through that door and his adopted family would be there to welcome him back and wrap up him in their familiar scent. The scent of home.

But now, not one of those comforting landmarks existed any more. He was seized by the dreadful realisation that, standing in the midst of this epic ocean of destruction, he no longer even knew which house he was standing outside of.

Where was his house? Where was his home?

His home.

His home where his sweet little Stevie had made for himself a nest of quilts, cocooned in a blissful illusion of innocence with his little English family, his little English ways, his little English King and his little English God, keeping him and his unborn baby loved and cherished and, above all, safe.

In his heart of hearts, Bucky had always known he was building a house of cards here with his boyfriend. But over time, he too had grown to believe the myth that Steve’s life was somehow special, protected, charmed even; rendered bulletproof by royal patronage, bedside prayers and a sea of stiff upper-lips. In a cold cruel war-torn world, it was all Steve and his family had left to hope for. Bucky had indulged it for their sake, and for his.

But now, in the space of a few seconds, heralded by the banshee screech of a falling bomb, that sweet illusion of safety had been literally dashed to pieces; the house of cards had collapsed and Bucky was left staring at the flattened smoking remnants of everything he loved. His family, and the gentle English myth that had sustained them, lay buried forever deep beneath an ocean of rubble.

How strangely awake he felt all of a sudden. Standing there amongst the flotsam and jetsam of devastation. It was as if his life with Steve and with his adopted family had been nothing more than a fanciful, half-formed dream.

And yet he knew that this was so much more than just a dream. The oath he’d sworn to protect his ‘pack’ wasn’t some figment of his imagination. And that pungent stench of terror in his nostrils was all too real. Steve hadn’t vanished into thin air at the hands of some cheap conjurer; this was destruction from the very heavens. This was payback for each and every bomb he’d dropped on the enemy. He’d summoned the angel of death over Germany one too many times and now his worst nightmare had come true. The avenging angel had returned with him to claim his brave Omega boy and his family. And that account had been paid, in full. Surely nothing could possibly have survived beneath these flattened buildings.

There was nothing left.

Nothing.

They’d gone.

All of them.

As if they’d never… even… existed.

The realisation stabbed at Bucky in the heart so hard he could scarcely breathe.

 

(A row of Victorian terraced houses devastated by a bombing raid in 1940)

 

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he wrenched away in anguish.

“Come on”, pressed Stark gently. “There’ll be time to grieve later. We’ve gotta try and find ‘em. Or….or what’s left of ‘em…before it gets too dark to search.”

Bucky swallowed drily and nodded. Almost as if on cue, a couple of young soldiers emerged out of the gloom from behind a mound of smoking rubble. They were bearing a loaded stretcher covered by an army blanket for decency’s sake.

Bucky bounded up to them. “Excuse me. My…my family live here. May I please…”

“Did you know an old lady?” one of the soldiers cut in.

Bucky nodded. “Not in my immediate family, no. But it might help me to…”

The soldier pulled the blanket back stiffly. Old Mrs. Potts’ lifeless eyes started despairingly up into the twilight, a single tear-stain dried to her wrinkled cheek.

“Oh God”, shuddered Bucky, respectfully closing the old lady’s eyelids with the tips of his fingers.

“You knew her?”

“She…she was our next-door neighbour.”

“Well, we found her just over there”, the soldier pointed to a shallow indentation in the rubble about 10 yards away. “Perhaps that might help you locate your family?”

“Thank you. Thank you very much”, said Stark, when it became clear that Bucky couldn’t manage any kind of reply.

Leaving them the pair of shovels they’d used to retrieve Mrs. Potts, the soldiers carried her body away. In the haze of smoke, Stark’s sharp eyes picked out the shape of other people in the distance; pitiful bands of people digging or clawing at the rubble of neighbouring homes. He could hear their agonised weeping and wailing as they chanced upon the corpses of their loved ones.

Stark turned back. “Bucky…can you listen to me for a moment? Please?”

Bucky nodded in his daze.

“We…gotta be methodical about this. If you just go tearing at this pile of rubble at random, you might end up burying what you’re tryin’ to uncover.”

Bucky’s breath hitched. “So…where do we start?”

“Try to find something, heck…anything you recognise. We’ll work from there.”

Carefully, Bucky paced ten more steps to the left from the indentation. We should be in our…our home now”, he whispered, hoarsely.

Stark helped him dig away at the rubble, moving the spoil heap over to the right of their excavation because poor old Mrs. Potts wouldn’t mind any more.

Abruptly, amongst the brick, Bucky’s hand was pricked by a few sharp strands of wicker.

Their basket of spare boy-parts. He was in their bedroom. The living room had to be directly below.

“We need to keep going straight down.”

Stark grunted an agreement, dragging the smashed remnants of the basket away as Bucky dug deeper in the same spot. Several minutes later, the snapped end of a length of smooth wood jutted out of the chaos. Bucky gasped in recognition, running his hands along the splintered remains of the polished mahogany piano top. In that very spot, he’d rested the first ‘Gin and It’ he’d bought for his Stevie. Now it was little more than driftwood. His hand glanced across a jagged fragment of white china vase. The two little flags propped up in it from Thanksgiving had vanished, lost forever under the rubble or burned away. Paper doesn’t stand much of a chance in a house collapse, he mused, grimly.

Paper…paper….he had to…

Digging slightly backward, through a twisted mass of piano wire that twanged discordantly as he cleared it away, the lid of the piano stool emerged. What he did next made absolutely no sense, but he did it anyway. He pried open the lid and rescued a handful of sheet music, handing it over to Stark.

“What the heck are you….”

“Just save it”, Bucky snapped.

Stark nodded silently, rolling up the papers and stuffing them into his pocket. “Now where?”

Bucky directed them to dig back in the same direction, further into the living room, not sure where to go next. Twilight was steadily falling. He had to…

And it was just then that he encountered the smell; a sharp rankness that pierced his heart like a spear.

Bucky instantly recognised the Rogers family scent. The scent of his happy little family, the jolly stiff-upper lip scent of Vyner Street on Thanksgiving and Christmas, but now twisted and corrupted by the pungent stench of decay.

“Jesus H. Christ”, exclaimed Stark, crossing himself.

That kind of sinister stench could only mean one thing. Stark knew it, and Bucky knew it.

They were dead.

His family; his ‘pack’ was dead.

All of them.

Agonised by grief, Bucky slid sideways, curling up into a ball, his breath shuddering, his eyes leaking hot, useless tears.

The Squadron Leader took over, tracking an increasingly putrid scent trail. That quest was swiftly over. Bucky sobbed wretchedly, powerless to help, as Stark uncovered what little was left. Meticulously picking through the rubble, brick by brick, he finally stopped and closed his eyes in deepest respect.

“Bucky. You…you might want to…to take a look at his”, Stark whispered hoarsely.

Bucky literally crawled over to him. He thought he had seen the worst vision of hell that mortal life could throw at him, when Clint’s body had slipped lifeless onto his lap in the cockpit of the ‘Lady Luck’.

But he was wrong. So very, very wrong.

The Rogers sisters sat huddled together on what was left of their trusty old chintz couch. They still had their fingers jammed firmly in their ears and their eyes tightly squeezed shut. Doubtless they’d heard the deafening screech of the bomb, a split second before it struck Vyner Street, but they were powerless to stop their hopes and dreams, like their home, suddenly crumbling to ruin all around them. Aside from the thick layer of grey ash and the obscene reek of death hovering over their bodies, they almost looked alive. Sarah even had her knitting still balanced deftly on her lap. For one sickening moment, Bucky’s mind flashed back to the bombing of 1942. Sarah had grieved for those poor nuns buried alive beneath their convent. And now she and Nat had suffered the self-same fate. Bucky could only hope that Sarah hadn’t had the time to consider the bitter irony of that at the end.

The light was fading fast. Stark cast about for something to decently cover them up with until their bodies could be removed the next day, but all Bucky wanted to do was to join them. At length, when he had no tears left to shed, he lay back down on the rubble in weary resignation.

And it was then that he heard it.

A very faint, intermittent rumbling noise, deep and calming and almost….almost….

…almost feline.

Bucky carefully crawled over to where the sound was clearest. “We…we gotta dig again. Right here.”

“You sure? It’s almost dark.”

“Just dig”, insisted Bucky. “And don’t worry about carting the bricks away anymore. We need to dig straight down right now.”

In frantic haste, Bucky unearthed splintered staircase banisters, torn shreds of stair carpet and finally the knob to the cupboard door. Stark dashed off down the side of the rubble as, with every ounce of his remaining strength, Bucky wrenched the door open.

Stark returned with a small air raid patrol lantern from one of the air raid patrol wardens. He directed the beam down into the space below.

A pair of luminous green eyes reflected back up at him

In the faint glow of the lamp, Bucky spotted Spitfire lying protectively over Steve’s chest, swishing his tail back and forth in angry defiance of the destruction all around him. But, despite his faithful cat’s bravery, Steve’s precious nest of safety hadn’t been strong enough to protect him. Under the weight of the collapsing house, the understairs cupboard had sunk into the foundations of the house, pitching both feline and human several feet down into a hellish subterranean space. Towards the bottom of that pit, Steve’s body lay limp and lifeless, his legs and swollen belly completely submerged beneath heaps and heaps of choking rubble.

_…his belly._

“We gotta get him out!” screamed Bucky

“Already on it”, Stark yelled back at him, beckoning to a handful of soldiers posted to deter looters who were warming themselves at a brazier by the roadside.

Bucky was exhilarated by the find, but exhausted by the attempt. Although he dearly longed to spearhead Steve’s rescue himself, his strength had ebbed away. The soldiers readily took up that challenge, but immediately faced the wrath of Spitfire, who distrusted the intentions of the strange humans descending on ropes towards him. Sharp of tooth and claw, the confused calico bravely mustered up a desperate, if misguided attempt to protect his human. Only when one of the soldiers grabbed him by the scruff of the neck did he begrudgingly concede defeat, wriggling free from the man’s grasp at the last moment and retreating into the lower reaches of the pit, his outline melting back into the darkness.

Once dragged free of the rubble, the soldiers hoisted Steve’s body up and out of the hole, carefully laying him onto a waiting stretcher.

“Is he…is he?”

“He’s got a pulse”, confirmed the army medic. “But it’s…it’s very weak.”

“Stevie… my Stevie?”

Through darkening smoke, Bucky staggered over to the stretcher to kiss Steve’s hand, but the palm was cold and clammy and Steve’s wrist slipped lifelessly through his grasp. Steve’s characterful face was now worryingly blank, as if the trauma had robbed him of the power of expression. His sunshine hair was sallow and matted in plaster and brick dust. The pheromones that once produced Steve’s vibrant maternal scent had curdled to a rancid sourness worse than spoiled milk. The closer Bucky got to Steve, the more unbearable this was for him. Bucky’s stomach protested against his emotional instincts.

He wanted to be with his sweetheart. God how he wanted to be with him…but that horrendous stench…

As the bell of an approaching ambulance grew louder, Bucky bolted to the side of the rubble and vomited, mortified by his physical reaction to the scent of man he’d been due to marry in less than a day; the man he’d promised to be with ‘till the end of the line.

“C’mon”, said Stark, as Steve’s stretcher was carried away to the ambulance. “We’d best get you something to drink.”

 

 

-*-

 

 

“No tea”, he mumbled, as Stark slipped a mug into his hand in the critical care waiting room.

“Sorry, Bucky, there’s nothing else available, but I can…sweeten it a little for you.”

Stark reached into his inside jacket pocket and unscrewed a small silver hip flask, adding a generous dash of brandy to the mix.

“For medicinal purposes only”, Stark assured him.

Bucky still didn’t feel like drinking, but the warmth of the mug in his hand comforted, as did the sharp scent of spirit. It helped restore his senses into some semblance of order, after the stench of the dead and the dying threatened to unhinge his mind.

But why did his sweet, sweet Stevie even smell like that?

He didn’t know. Deep down, he really didn’t think he wanted to know. He sipped experimentally at his tea. It tasted every bit as bad as he thought it would. A criminal waste of good brandy.

But it didn’t matter.

He looked up when he registered the click of high heels growing louder on the polished linoleum.

“How are you holding up, Bucky?”

Peggy had tidied up her mascara, and reapplied a dab of rouge and a touch of lipstick, but only for the sake of decorum. Bucky had learned that if ever the British let slip their stiff mask of tightly controlled emotion, they’d fight like devils to recover it again.

But would Steve? Could Steve?

And would he even want Steve to wear a mask like that?

Bucky stared back down at the waiting room’s chequerboard floor tiles and a scene replayed of a happy time on a dancefloor like this in Scarborough. That sure wasn’t a masquerade ball. Everyone knew his Omega boy was leading him.

But who would lead him now?

Pulling his hand away from the back of his neck, he impassively noticed the fresh bloodstains on his fingertips. He’d scratched his battle scar raw from anxiety. Not as if he cared. Steve had said the future might be hidden, and painful. Well, he sure got that right. Was there even a future anymore?

Peggy read the continued silence as invitation enough to take a seat alongside them.

“What’s the time?” she asked.

“Clock’s over there”, Stark grunted ungraciously by way of reply.

Prompted by his answer, Bucky now glanced up at the clock-face. Nearly 8 in the evening. Twelve hours ago, he’d opened his eyes to see his Stevie rummaging in the wardrobe to recover his birthday gift. Twelve hours ago, he’d held the love of his life in his arms, and now they ached to hold him again.

“Have you spoken to anyone?”, Stark asked.

Peggy nodded. “Yes. I managed to contact the wedding guests. But news like this gets out very quickly. Most of them said they’d heard before I even started to tell them what happened. Everything’s on hold.”

“Did you manage to find Becca?”

Peggy shook her head.

Silence descended like a suffocating blanket. Now that Bucky had noticed the waiting room clock, he found it impossible to filter out its gratingly relentless ticking; second followed second, each agonising movement of the hand inching him closer and closer to something that terrified him. Not knowing was bad enough, but knowing…

Bucky felt Peggy’s startled jolt to attention alongside him, and followed her gaze to the outline of a fresh figure standing in the doorway. He couldn’t speak. He just stared slack-jawed at his sister. She wore an expression as impenetrable as any English one, though more clinical than cultural in origin.

“Do you…do you maybe…wanna talk in private, Buckaroo?”, she ventured hesitatingly.

“Do you? There’s only the three of us”, Bucky challenged.

Bucky hadn’t meant to sound ungrateful but equally he didn’t want to relay whatever his sister had to say to two other people, especially not his boss and Steve’s childhood friend. Plus, he knew what these ‘talks in private’ usually involved. Deep down, he hoped avoiding this might spare him the truth.

Becca slipped into the waiting room and took a chair opposite them.

“I’m…only a messenger”, she began, carefully.

“You didn’t treat him, then?”

“I helped Dr. Banner when they brought him in of course, but I couldn’t get too involved. There’s certain rules about treating relatives y’know.”

Steve wasn’t technically a relative until tomorrow came, whenever that tomorrow might be, but Bucky let it slide.

“Besides…”, she added, with a shudder “…that stench…”

“You smelt it too?”

“Sure, I did. I told you before, Bucky, he scents like you, like the Omega kid brother I never had. And the maternal pheromones make it even stronger. That kind of scent is very powerful to family.”

“Then why does he smell so bad?”

Becca flinched as if she’d been stabbed, her jagged intake of breath betraying an anguished sob.

“Because…he’s dying.”

“Wha….” Bucky’s throat spasmed so hard with the shock, he couldn’t swallow. The scent of Alpha grief burst out in all directions, His eyes brimmed with tears, but he didn’t…he just couldn’t let them fall. Gulping down his emotions, he tried to regain the composure to repeat himself. “What?”

“That scent was the symptom of a massive obstetric hemorrhage”, Becca explained. “Steve had lost a whole lot of blood by the time you found him, and try as we might, we can’t stop that kind of bleeding in an Omega boy. The baby was in distress. Steve gave birth prematurely. Too….”, she paused a beat to keep a check of her emotions. “Too soon.”

“The baby?”

Becca shook her head sadly. “There was nothing we could do. She…she only lived for a few minutes. But she was perfect Bucky. A perfect beautiful baby girl.”

The pain…the bitter pain of that grief was indescribable. They’d lost their baby….their baby…their baby girl…

A girl.

So, his Stevie had been right in his predictions about their baby being a girl all along. Bucky was instantly seized by the vain desperation of an Alpha father to protect his family, even though it was all utterly hopeless now. He was too late. Guilt gnawed at his insides like a wild animal.

“I gotta….I just gotta see them.”

Becca nodded. Even in his misery, Bucky figured his loving sister would have anticipated his reaction. It helped explain why she’d tried to keep their conversation private; at least to begin with.

“You understand that Steve…well…that Steve might not want you there?”

“I can try, can’t I? I can give him that choice?” Bucky challenged.

“I know”, she said calmly. “Come on; let’s go.”

Stark and Peggy stayed where they were. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw the Squadron Leader take his fiancé in his arms, in an attempt to offer her some comfort. He wished he could offer his own fiancé the same, if only Steve would let him.

Becca’s pace was fast, but Bucky wished she’d walk even faster. It took less than a minute but it felt like hours before they reached the door to a private ward.

Bucky peered through the small inset window and turned to Becca.

“But…where’s the doctors? The nurses? Why is he on his own?”

Becca’s fractional shrug and shake of the head were almost imperceptible, but Bucky had always been close to his twin sister; close enough to guess exactly what her gestures meant.

“It’s probably for the best if I leave you here”, she said quietly, nodding at the door to prompt Bucky to walk through it.

Steve was propped up in a hospital bed, his sallow skin a near perfect match to the crisp white linen sheets. He was cradling the body of their baby in a white honeycombed woollen blanket. As Bucky soft-shoed in, Steve was singing a soft lullaby and rocking her back and forth. The Omega looked up at the sound of sobbing, but when he saw Bucky he gasped and shrank back in fear.

“It’s…it’s okay sweetheart. I’m here for you”, Bucky soothed as gently as he could.

“But…but…our baby.”

“I..I…know, it’s okay, love.”

Tears flooded Steve’s eyes. “I’m…I’m so sorry, honey”, he wept.

Bucky rushed to his fiancé and wrapped his arm tenderly around them both.

Steve rocked back and forth, shuddering in shallow breaths, wracked by grief and guilt and God alone knew what else. Bucky’s heart was torn into a million pieces by the sound.

As Bucky sat on the bed, quietly letting Steve sob out his feelings, he noticed the rancid smell from before had faded, replaced by…by nothing. His fiancé’s Omega scent, like the precious life bundled in his arms, had been cruelly robbed away from him.

“Do….do you want to hold her?” whispered Steve, weakly.

“Oh baby, do I ever.”

Steve passed over their daughter. She was so tiny and fragile, like her Omega father, but she shared that same a look of grim determination on her face too. The shock of brunette hair on her head she got from Bucky though.

“What colour are…”, he winced, biting back his words. “…were her eyes?”

“She had your eyes, Buck.”

The understated scent of a familiar Beta made him look up.

Unlike the rest of the British contingent, Dr. Banner wasn’t sporting a stiff upper lip. He didn’t try to pretend. He looked like hell.

“I knew you’d bond with her”, he said, simply. “Do you…do you want to bathe her?”

“Can we?”, asked Steve.

“Of course. I’ve even brought a little one-piece baby outfit for you.”

Dr. Banner filled an enamel bowl with warm water and placed it on a bedside table, alongside a fluffy white towel.

Bucky unwrapped the second gift he’d got that day. This one infinitely more precious than the last. Becca had been right, she was perfect in every way; ten tiny fingers, ten tiny toes, and a skin as smooth as Steve’s.

She was just…well…she was just…sleeping, that’s all.

“Have you given her a name?” asked Dr. Banner.

“She’s called Rose Sarah Winifred Barnes”, said Steve firmly.

“Do you…want her baptised?” Banner asked.

“But she’s…she’s already….”

“Doesn’t matter”, the doctor shrugged. “I’ll go and fetch the hospital chaplain.”

Together, wordlessly, Steve and Bucky took it in turns to wash their little rosebud, and then snuggled her into the towel. Bucky’s hands shook too hard with the emotion, so Steve painstakingly buttoned up the little pink outfit and combed his fingers through her hair.

“She’s so beautiful, Stevie.”

“I…I guess my mum would have been proud”, Steve agreed.

Bucky bit his tongue. He knew. His Stevie knew. Of course, he knew. He’d been buried only a few feet away from his mother’s body. Bucky positioned himself behind Steve and held him gently, as Steve held little Rose tight against his chest, almost as if trying to get her to suckle.

It was wonderful, it was magical, it was everything he knew Steve would be as an Omega father, and that made the scene all the more heart-rending. Steve’s thready voice cracked with emotion as he poured out his love to the body of his dear sweet daughter in song:

“When I pretend I'm gay  
I never feel that way  
I'm only painting the clouds with sunshine  
When I hold back a tear  
To make a smile appear  
I'm only painting the clouds with sunshine

Painting the blues, beautiful hues  
Coloured with gold and old rose  
Playing the clown, trying to drown all of my woes  
Though things may not look bright  
They'll all turn out all right  
If I keep painting the clouds with sunshine”

Alongside Banner, Bucky noticed the placid beta chaplain in a dog collar waiting for his fiancé’s song to end.

“That was beautiful,” the chaplain said, with a sad smile.

“Thank you. It was our song”, Steve replied.

Bucky vaguely queried in his mind why Steve had used the past tense to say that, but there were far higher priorities to consider right now, literally higher priorities.

“Father, I’m…I’m sorry”, explained Steve. “My daughter died before we could have her Christened.”

“It’s all right, my son. I’m a Church of England chaplain. We don’t hold with the notion that a child ever lost in that way. Baptism has no time limit. May the sure and certain promise of eternal life offer you comfort in your grief.”

Blessing the water they’d washed Rose in, the vicar imparted his benediction on their precious little rosebud. Bucky was in awe at how thoroughly seriously Steve took it all. Despite everything that had happened, his faith in his little English God never faltered for a moment. Even Bucky felt the priest’s blessings curl around his daughter’s departing soul as the chaplain laid his hands on her sweet little forehead.

“Thank you, Father”, Steve whispered.

“It’s my pleasure.”

What little colour was left in the Omega’s cheeks suddenly drained away. It was as if the effort to save his daughter’s soul had consumed the very last dregs of his strength. Steve let out a weary sigh, and took Bucky’s hand. Staring into his eyes, but addressing the vicar, he whispered “Father I…I think…it’s time.”

“I understand, my son.” He glanced over to Bucky. “Have you spoken to your husband about this?”

“My fiancé”, Steve corrected, before adding “No, I haven’t had the time, but the doctors tell me I’m nearly out of that, so….”

Bucky furrowed his brow in puzzlement as Steve gently smoothed his thumb over Bucky’s cheek. Looking deep into his eyes, he said “Bucky, honey, I love you more than life itself, which is why I need you to keep on…to keep on living for me…” Steve dragged the anguished words from his tongue as if every syllable was agony to him. “…and so, the…the kindest thing I can do for you now…is to release you from your obligation; from your…from your promise of marriage.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped. “You’re gonna do...WHAT!?” he gasped.

A jagged spasm of air rattled through Steve’s weak lungs, but no more words came out.

The time for words was over. Steve had no strength left to answer.

Instead, he gathered his baby to his breast, closed his eyes and lay back against the pillows with a resigned, but oddly peaceful expression.

The chaplain reached into his pocket to retrieve a small vial of sacred oil. Rising to his feet, he dipped his index finger into the precious liquid and proceeded to make a sign of the cross on the foreheads of the Omega and the babe in his arms, before pronouncing with a solemn intonation:

 

“Almighty and eternal God,

hear our prayers as we entrust to you, your children Rose and Steven,

as you summon them out of this world.

Forgive them their sins and failings

and grant them a haven of light, and peace.

Let them pass unharmed through the gates of death

to dwell with the blessed….”

 

The remainder of the priest’s calmly intoned prayer was drowned out by the searing panic that overwhelmed Bucky’s mind. He couldn’t believe it. He simply couldn’t believe it. The priest was giving them _both_ the last rites.

And Steve had calmly laid down to die with their baby.

Bucky’s eyes widened in horror as the full significance of what he was witnessing fully hit home. He felt like he was trapped in a terrible nightmare he couldn’t wake himself up from, standing by that death bed as the last remaining shred of hope was ripped out of his soul.

Steve was the bravest Omega boy who ever lived, Bucky would stake his life on that. But now, with the loss of his family, and of his precious daughter, his sunshine boy had gone and done the one thing Bucky didn’t think he would ever see him do.

Steve had given up.

The love of his life had meekly offered himself up to the angel of death….and Bucky was powerless to stop it.

It was more than flesh and blood could stand.

“But…but…”, Bucky sputtered at Steve in a final, frantic protest.

Before he could make another sound, Dr. Banner took a hold of him gently but firmly by the elbow, guiding the grief-stricken Alpha to the door.

“Come along now, soldier”, the doctor murmured consolingly into Bucky’s ear. “You know as well as I do that it’s over. The time has come for you…to let them go.”

 

 

 


	37. Phoenix

 

In a pure contest of strength, Bucky could have floored Dr. Banner with a single punch. And he was sorely tempted to. Only his memory of the friendly and considerate Beta doctor who had done so much to help Steve kept Bucky from tearing the man apart to get back to him.

“Bucky, you need to let Steve and the baby go in peace”, Dr. Banner insisted, once they were far enough away from Steve’s ward and the sound of the priest pronouncing the last rites to speak freely.

“What the hell do you think you’re talking about?”

“You know very well what I’m talking about”, Banner said soberly. “Do I really have to spell it out to you?”

He didn’t need to of course.

Human biology 101. Bucky’s Sex ed class in 7th grade: "An Omega boy who loses his baby during pregnancy will invariably go into shock and die of grief and blood loss within the day. That’s why Alphas must always carefully protect all Omegas, but most especially Omega boys."

The Alpha Code Bucky had sworn to wasn’t just some outdated scrap of paper; it still held its wisdom.

And it was also one of the many reasons being attracted to the same gender had always been viewed as unusual, dangerous even, because – whilst Omega boys were undoubtedly mysterious and powerfully alluring to Alpha men – they were also incredibly fragile. Their lives hung by a gossamer thread every time they fell pregnant.

Bucky had heard that dozens of times, in the classroom as a child, and in the bars as an adult. But he’d never actually believed it. The Alphas that lost their Omega boys that way were just plain careless, or stupid. In his mind, such Alphas didn’t deserve to be called Alphas at all. That wouldn’t; that _couldn’t_ ever happen to his Stevie, not if Bucky protected him as the Alpha Code said.

But Steve had lost his baby. And by that loss, Steve had effectively signed his own death warrant. Or rather Bucky had signed it for him. Because he hadn’t protected his Omega as he should. Steve’s nest of safety had been ripped apart; obliterated in a split second. The lives of Steve’s mother, his aunt, his baby and – it now seemed – his own were forfeit to a single tragic oversight on Bucky’s part.

Yes of course, Bucky had said, glibly. Of course, we can delay the wedding so you can have your baby in England. Well, Steve had his baby all right. And now Bucky was going to have to bury them both under a stone slab in Goodramgate.

How did that maudlin Irish song go that Steve had sung to him? “It will not be long, love, till our wedding day”; that’s what the ghostly Omega boy had sung to his grieving Alpha.

And now their own wedding day had become a mass funeral.

Many months ago, he’d vowed to Clint that he’d seek revenge on anyone who harmed Steve, but, in his fevered mind, the burden of guilt laid squarely on his shoulders. He’d tempted fate once too often over Germany; he’d invited the angel of death to visit Vyner Street; he’d not protected Steve from harm; he’d broken the Alpha Code…and the consequences were plain enough.

Nice work, Bucky.

You killed your ‘pack’

You killed your Omega.

You killed your baby.

You killed them all.

Bucky’s swollen self-loathing practically choked him. He tried to swallow down the bitter gall of Alpha guilt for form’s sake, if nothing else, but even he couldn’t control his scent gland. Dr. Banner sniffed it out immediately.

“Look”, he said gently. “You really mustn’t blame yourself for this.”

“Who should I blame, then?” Bucky shot between clenched teeth.

The doctor fell silent.

“So, there’s no hope at all?” Bucky pleaded. “No hope for my brave Stevie?”

Supersensitive to Banner’s reaction, Bucky noticed the tiniest hint of hesitation in the doctor’s demeanour before he shook his head.

“There’s something you’re not telling me”, Bucky said, grimly. “There IS something, isn’t there?”

A series of conflicting emotions sped crossed the doctor’s face, like clouds in a stiff breeze, as if he were weighing up the options. He exhaled heavily, pinched the bridge of his nose and said “Look, I’m going to be entirely honest with you. There’s a possibility, but it’s so slim as to be practically non-existent. Even mentioning it to you now is probably a terrible mistake because it’ll raise your hopes only to dash them again. The chances of success are so low.”

“I won’t blame you if it fails,” Bucky said. “But you’ve gotta give him the chance. You’ve gotta give us the chance. I…I can’t live without him, doc.”

Dr. Banner swallowed hard. “I really shouldn’t be telling you this because we’re moving out of medical science and into the realm of folklore here, but there are cases of Omega boys who have the self-discipline to control their biological immolation and switch from dying to a state known as dormancy.”

“What’s dormancy?”

“It’s a biological protection mechanism”, Banner explained. “An evolutionary throwback, if you will. Thousands of years ago, if they were injured during childbirth, Omega boys could reabsorb and repair their torn internal tissues by going into a form of phantom pregnancy that we now describe as a dormancy cycle. It rendered them unconscious and practically helpless for a period of 9 months, so it wasn’t a very effective survival mechanism. That’s why today only a small proportion of Omega boys have retained their latent ability to do this.”

“And you think Steve might be one of these Omegas who can do that?”

“There’s just no way of knowing”, the doctor replied candidly. “Maybe one day in the future there’ll be a blood test for things like this, but…” his words trailed off into uncertainty.

“So, modern medicine can’t be sure”, conceded Bucky. “But what do you think, doc? I don’t trust much in this crazy world, but I do trust your judgement. Do you think my Stevie could go into dormancy?”

“Like I said, there’s just no way of knowing. I’ve seen a fair few successful cases in my time, and the Omega boys that survive tend to build elaborate nests to keep themselves safe. Steve really liked nesting, so that’s a positive sign.”

“I can help him to nest again”, Bucky agreed enthusiastically.

Banner nodded. “And he’s a fighter all right, so that’s in his favour too. But on the downside, only about half the Omega boys who go into dormancy survive the process, and weak or disabled Omegas are much less likely to make it. Steve’s Polio…” The doctor didn’t complete his sentence. Bucky understood well enough what he was trying to say.

“However,” Banner continued “What I’m much more concerned about right now is his mental attitude. Omega boys going through dormancy are taking a terrible risk. They’re physically and mentally helpless during that time. They need to trust that they’ll be safe and loved if and when they recover. And Steve’s just had his entire family die on him. Why would he even want to go on living?”

“For us, of course”, exclaimed Bucky, for all he was worth. “For our future together.”

“You don’t need to convince me of that, young man”, Banner said. “You need to convince him. You need to give him back the hope that’s he’s lost. Otherwise all of this is just so much idle speculation.”

“I’ll persuade him if I have to open up my veins to show him the blood.”

“Stow that bar room bluster away”, Banner shot back irritably. “This isn’t some Alpha pissing contest. He needs love and reassurance, not loud and empty gestures. You have to promise him the things you know will keep him alive. And more importantly you need to be able to keep those promises.”

Bucky nodded, chastened. “I…I understand. That’s gonna be hard to say, and even harder to deliver. But he deserves it.”

The doctor gave Bucky a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I appreciate it’s going to be difficult for you. If you don’t think you’re able to see those promises through, then no-one will think any less of you. You heard Steve; he released you from your obligations.”

Bucky shook his head. “No. I promised my Stevie I’d be with him ‘till the end of the line, and I meant every word of it. And that’s not just because I signed the Alpha code, and I feel obligated somehow. Stevie’s in my heart now. If he dies, then I’m as good as dead too, and that’s not bar room bluster, doc.”

Dr. Banner smiled sympathetically. “Then I’ll arrange to have Steve transferred to Phoenix ward within the hour. And in the meantime, if you can think of anything that will help encourage him to nest again, then you need to make that happen right now.”

“You bet.”

“But remember, the chances of success are fractional, okay? Very few Omega boys make it, so please don’t get your hopes up too much”

Bucky didn’t care. A fraction of a chance was still better than no chance at all.

 

-*-

 

“Are you…quite sure that’s what you want?”

“Yes, please sir. Bring anything you can. I can sort through it later”

Stark sighed. “Well, I did say I’d do what I could to help. I’ve got the personnel. We’ll comb the rubble at first light tomorrow morning; you have my word on it.”

“Bucky?”

He turned to face the waiting room door and frowned at his sister.

“So, when were you gonna tell me about the dormancy, huh?” Bucky grumbled.

Becca leaned against the door frame, avoiding her brother’s eyes.

“It’s not something I know very much about”, she conceded. “Dr. Banner’s a specialist and even he only treats a few Omega boys like this each year. Most of them don’t make it. You gotta appreciate you might just be making things harder on yourself, Buckaroo.”

“How do you mean?”

“Have you any idea how unbelievably tiny the chances are of Steve even going into dormancy, let alone surviving the 9-month ordeal?”

“Never tell me the odds.”

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to”, Becca replied. “They barely register on any kind of a scale, they’re so small. And how are you gonna feel when you fail?”

“I won’t fail. I’ll find a way. When I lost my arm, Steve told it to me straight. He said, ‘That’s how it’s always going to be. I fix you, and you fix me’. I’ve never forgotten his words. Stevie and me, well…we’re meant to be together.”

Becca nodded. “I know you feel that way. I love you, Buckaroo, and I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

“Then you gotta let me do this, Sis.”

“You’d best come with me then.”

Becca led her brother away from the main hospital corridors, busy with patients and staff, into a maze of smaller and small side routes, until their feet echoed on cold marble floors in silence and semi-darkness.

“Where in the heck are we, anyway?”, Bucky asked.

“The original part of the hospital, built in 1862. It’s not fit for purpose now, but one of the old wards was specially converted some years back.

Turning right by a set of Victorian stone stairs, worn down in the centre by countless nurses’ sensible shoes in the long-forgotten past, Bucky scented a faint whiff of Omega drifting from the gap between a pair of white-painted double doors surmounted by a beautiful old brass plaque in the art nouveau style, its sweeping lettering spelling out the words: ‘Phoenix Ward’.

“Okay, we’re here. Now, remember, keep your voice very low. No displays of fear or anger, whatever happens. If you feel that you can’t control your emotions, then you need to leave this place immediately.”

Bucky didn’t know what to expect after that ominous introduction. What he saw, once he’d grown accustomed to the eerie half-light, was an enormous high-ceilinged hospital ward, divided up on either side by a cluster of little side rooms, almost all of them dark and empty. The nurse reading charts by the desk at the front nodded a greeting to Becca and silently directed them down the long corridor running the length of the ward. Alongside the low bass of neutral Omega, Bucky could scent crisp starched linen and lily of the valley. Every conceivable surface was covered in vases overflowing with fresh flowers.

“Clean floral scents are the most reassuring for dormant Omega boys,” murmured Becca, “Although personal scents are the most important for recovery.”

“I don’t understand”, whispered Bucky. “Is this some kind of secret Omega boy ward?”

“I guess you could say that”, said Becca. “Most hospitals don’t officially admit to having them, since the chance of an Omega boy recovering from a failed pregnancy is so low. And most extended families either aren’t aware of this facility or decline consent for their relative to be admitted here even if they do find out.”

“‘Decline consent’? But…but why?”

Becca paused halfway down the corridor and looked her brother in the eye. “Given the chances of survival, let’s just say most folks would prefer not to prolong their loved one’s agony in this way.”

Bucky swallowed thickly. “You think I’m being selfish.”

Becca sighed. “No. I think you’re madly in love, Buckaroo. And, since modern medicine has no cure for what ails Steve, your madness might just be the best hope he has.”

They continued walking in silence for a few more seconds.

“He’s a long way down the ward”, said Bucky “Why did you put him all the way down here when there are so many empty rooms?”

Becca smiled at that. “I’m no expert on dormancy, at least not yet. But I was with Dr. Banner when he explained the basics to Steve. It’s a tradition for patients in Phoenix ward to choose their own rooms, you see. It helps to aid their recovery if they feel comfortable with the space that we hope they’ll try to nest in. I’ll be interested to see what you think of Steve’s choice.”

At the very end of the ward, looking even more incongruous next to an imposing looking solid oak fire door, Becca squeezed her way through a modest arched opening into a completely square turret, with delicate little frosted glass windows on three sides, the low ceiling resplendent with ornately sculpted plasterwork, crisp and white like icing on a Christmas cake. A four-foot cast-iron bedstead with its companion bedside chair had been arranged atop a rich vermilion Persian rug in the centre of that cosy little darkened room. It was a very special place, an almost hallowed spot. This was an illustration from a fairy-tale picture book made real. And there, curled up in a ball like a little mouse, his sweet sunshine boy lay peacefully under a thick woollen blanket; his body rose and fell in a fell in a steady rhythm as he breathed.

Bucky motioned his sister to join him outside.

“What is it?” Becca asked.

Bucky turned to her with a lopsided grin. “Say what you like, sis, but my boy’s sure got style.”

“Well, this will be his room for the duration of his stay”, she confirmed. “For the first day or two; he’ll be in an assessment phase. This can go one of two ways, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”

“When will he be awake?”

“Difficult to tell. The nurses have made you up a camp bed in the adjoining room so you can be near him.”

“Can’t I sleep with him?”

Becca shook her head sadly. “If Steve goes dormant, then he’ll need complete peace and quiet to recover.”

“Do I…need to bring his knitting? Books to read? Things to do?”

“That’s not how it works, Buckaroo. Assuming he’s able to nest, he’ll be operating on his hind brain for the next 9 months. During a couple of hours each week, his consciousness will rise to the level where he might be able to accept simple fluids, and he’ll probably crave your presence, specifically for scent comfort and touch comfort. But beyond that, he’s going to be totally unresponsive.”

“And if he isn’t’ able to nest?”

Becca sighed. “Then that’s it I’m afraid; he’ll start to haemorrhage uncontrollably again; his body will slip into shock and there’ll be nothing more that any of us can do for him.”

“When…when will we know,” Bucky gulped.

“You and I will know first. We’ll pick up the scent if he fails. We both know what a dying Omega boy smells like.”

Bucky nodded, his stomach churning even from the memory of that spoilt milk stench. “Yeah, I’ve smelt that before. I’m pretty sure I’d recognise it again.”

“Then go get yourself some rest,” she said, with a tight smile. “Tomorrow’s going to be a tough one for both of you. The bathroom’s just down the hall if you want to freshen up.”

Bucky stumbled blindly into the adjacent room, a long narrow space with an equally narrow cot greeted him. At the head of the bed, a rickety old wardrobe contained a handful of nondescript shirts, trousers and underclothes in a size approximating his own. On the bed itself, a rough towel and an astringently antiseptic-scented bar of soap had been laid out. The bare minimum had been provided for his meagre comfort.

Bucky sat on the edge of the cot and tried not to cry. He didn’t want Steve to scent his distress from the next room. But, given what Becca had told him about the chances of Steve’s recovery, Bucky couldn’t quite stifle the fear that his particular fair-haired phoenix would never rise again from the ashes of Vyner Street. Today was meant to be the happiest day of his life, but instead of a magical honeymoon suite in London, he was now faced by the bleak reality of a hospital ward in York.

 

 

-*-

 

 

A few hours later, he stirred from a fitful sleep to the sound of a tap at the door.

“Someone to see you, Mr. Barnes”, said the nurse on duty.

Bucky threw on some of the neutral clothes and followed her out into the corridor to the reception desk.

“Jeez, Barnes, you need to take a shower”, said Stark.

“I’m sorry sir. Tough day yesterday.”

Stark relented. “Yeah, I know…I’m sorry. Don’t know what came over me. Guess you can take the Squadron Leader out of the Airfield, but…well, you know what I mean.”

Bucky was charmed, flattered even, that Stark was being so apologetic and human. But he hoped that this wasn’t simply a social call.

“We found you the quilt you were looking for, but it was in a dreadful state so I had it laundered.”

Bucky groaned.

“Is that…not good?”

He thought for a moment. “It could be worse. Maybe the fact I’m a bit ripe right now might not be the worst outcome.”

“Ah, I’m with you”, Stark smiled his understanding. “I also got you this. It was still in the chest of drawers so it’s clean. I figured by the scent that you’d want it.”

Bucky breathed in the Arran sweater that Steve had knitted for him. It still thrummed with loving Omega boy, throwing into fresh relief what it was that he was fighting for.

“Oh, and finally, I found this. I guess it’s not on your list of priorities right now, but it will be one day.”

Stark handed him a box. For a moment he didn’t understand. He still had the wedding ring and the cufflinks in his jacket pocket so…

...then it came to him. He opened it to confirm his assumption. The Victoria Cross. He couldn’t think of a more unwelcome sight right now. A piece of tin trumpeting to all the world how courageous he was. If he could have thrown it in the trash, he would have. In the end, he simply said “Thank you for saving it, sir. Could you please keep it at Topcliffe for me?”

“Of course. Oh, and by the way, I thought you ought to know that Peggy found something else in the rubble that she felt she couldn’t leave there.”

“Huh?”

“A certain calico cat answering to the name of Spitfire, looking very dirty and dejected. She’s taken him in. Bearing in mind how he tried to keep Steve safe. It’s the least we could do.”

Bucky nodded. Right now, he was pretty sure that Spitfire was a damn sight more deserving of that Victoria Cross than he was.

He returned to the ward with the sweater and the quilt tucked under his arm.

“Is Steve awake yet?”

The nurse shook her head. “It’s day two, so we’re monitoring him much more closely, particularly since he’ll probably be mute from now on.”

“Mute?”

“When an Omega boy prepares for death or dormancy, their higher faculties begin to shut down. It’s part of the protection mechanism. Generally, the first thing to go is the power of speech.”

That realisation hurt Bucky more than he cared to admit. The thought that the lilt of Stevie’s golden voice was lost, possibly forever, filled him with a sadness so deep, he had to fight the emotion for fear of contaminating the whole ward with his grief.

He retreated to his room and laid the quilt out on his bed, taking a few deep breaths to shake the sadness away. What he had to do next would have looked utterly ridiculous, but it had to be done. He checked the door was locked a second time just to be sure, the stripped off his clothes and practically mounted the fabric, rubbing his scent everywhere, taking particular care to smear his scent gland, genitals and little patch of chest hair over the material. He wrapped himself up in it and tried to think of the dirtiest thoughts about knotting his Omega. Suppressed Alpha arousal flooded out of him, impregnating the whole quilt.

Finally, he tucked his underclothes inside whilst he went for a shower. By the time he returned, the bedclothes reeked of filthy, filthy Barnes, but hopefully in a good way.

The nurses’ second tap on his door was perfectly timed. All he needed to do was slip the Arran sweater over his head and he was ready.

“Hey sweetheart.”

Steve was still curled up in a ball, but his eyes were open and moving. He was clearly taking some notice of his surroundings.

Bucky slipped into the little chair by his beside.

“The nurses say you’re not able to talk right now, but would I be able to talk to you?”

Steve assumed a pained expression, but nodded.

Bucky placed a comforting hand on his fiancé’s forearm. He felt a momentary flinch, before Steve’s muscles relaxed again.

“You’re probably wondering why you’re here. It’s…well, it’s hard for me to say. I’d like to say it makes perfect sense, but emotions often don’t make sense, do they?”

Steve was looking at him. It was a start. He wasn’t looking away. Talking about emotions was obviously helping.

“I…well I feel very lonely without you. You’ve buried yourself deep in my heart, Stevie. I understand you need to heal and I know you need to have your space, and I respect that. My sweet sunshine boy, you know I respect every little bit of you. You’re the bravest Omega boy that ever lived.”

Steve’s gaze sank to the floor. Bucky desperately pressed on, hoping to regain the initiative.

“But I’m not brave, Stevie. I know you think I am, but I’m not. You control my life and my happiness. You’re the captain of my ship; you’re the pilot of my ‘plane; you’re the leader of our dance.”

Steve swallowed hard, and looked back up into Bucky’s eyes.

“And there’s a great big hope out there. There’s a shining city in the new world with hot dogs and cheeseburgers and milkshakes. There’s a happy new home with so much love for you to share. Stevie…oh my…my dearest love…I can’t…I just can’t do this without you.”

Steve shook his head sadly, but Bucky kept going. He couldn’t give up now.

“Do you want me to die with you, sweetheart?” he paused to let that sink in “Because I will. I swear to you, I will. Without you, this isn’t a world I want to live in.”

After a beat, Bucky added “Or do you want me to live with you? Do you want to invite me back into your heart? Do you want a share of our great big love that beats and throbs so loud there’s no other sound, no other sight, no other scent left in our world but that…?”

A blush rose in Steve’s cheeks.

“Dr. Banner says you can be very brave and stay with me, but that it’s a really hard thing for you to do. He says that to do it you’d have to trust me and place all your hopes in me like never before…Stevie, that’s a gift I don’t know if I’ll ever deserve, but I want to prove I’m worthy of it; worthy of your love. To prove I’m with you till the end of the line.”

Steve glanced grief-stricken to the side and then back at Bucky. He didn’t know how or why, but Bucky seemed to guess his thoughts precisely.

“Yes, I know. You’re gonna have to switch off and leave someone else in charge for a while. And I know that’s something you don’t like doing, but you really don’t need to worry about that. All that’s important is our big love; that sound, that vision, that scent that will fill you until you’re all healed up again. We’re soulmates, Stevie. This kind of thing happens once in a lifetime, and Jeez baby, I don’t want that lifetime to end, not now, not ever.”

Bucky waited several seconds for emphasis, before continuing, “Listen, I brought you somethin’ and I’m hoping that it triggers something real special for you.”

He carefully draped the Alpha-scented blanket over Steve’s shoulders, letting it settle close to his nostrils. Steve drank in the scent with an expression of pure euphoria.  
“If the scent makes you think of doing somethin’, anythin’, then you just do it, baby, you hear? Don’t worry about the whats or the whys or the wherefores; don’t worry about the understandin’, just let it happen. Because it’s your body helping you to heal okay?”

Steve nodded and gave a sad little smile. Bucky paused. His whole body was shaking. He’d never had to say anything so difficult or scary in his life. He closed his eyes, just keeping his hand on his fiancé’s arm, letting him feel the closeness without demanding anything more than that. For the first time since the bombing, his thoughts turned to prayer. Perhaps Steve’s little English God hadn’t been buried beneath the rubble of Vyner Street after all; perhaps a modest prayer right now might help them.

He didn’t know how long he’d been quietly sitting there; it might have been minutes, it might have been hours, but all at once he felt Steve shift on the bed, tentatively lowering his feet to the ground. His mangled leg braces hadn’t been replaced yet, but he had just enough strength to totter towards a big wooden blanket box at the foot of the bed.

“You want me to open this for you, sweetheart?”

As if confirming it, Steve pointed over to the box. Once Bucky had eased open the top, Steve pointed to a fuzzy red woollen blanket with a thick satin trim.

“You…want this?”

Steve nodded.

Very soon, both the nurses on duty were frantically raiding every store cupboard in the ward offering pillows, blankets, comforters, spools of wool, anything soft that they could get their hands on, for Steve’s consideration. The Omega chose carefully. Items would then be handed to Bucky, who would promptly rub every inch of their surface areas over himself practically to the point of physical exhaustion. Steve received them back, scented with approval, and placed them carefully in a huge nest-like structure his hind brain was busily constructing.

It was the most incredible sight (and smell) Bucky had ever seen.

Bucky had been so terrified of the dawn after the bombing; so certain that this tragedy could only worsen.

But, although no vows had been exchanged between them that day, Steve was vowing his trust in and love to Bucky in every semi-conscious action.

Steve had defied the angel of death.

He’d chosen life.

And that meant he’d chosen life for Bucky too.

 

 


	38. Transition

 

Steve jabbed a finger to his chest and waved it in a vague direction, but at what?

The narrow, frosted window nearest to him?

“Do you want me to open the window, sweetheart?”

He shook his head and tried again.

“The…the lamp? You want me to turn the lamp up?”

Steve shook his fist weakly and gurgled frustration, then broke down in silent tears.

“Becca, what’s… what’s wrong with him?”

Bucky’s sister had been watching the scene for a few minutes now. It didn’t make for easy viewing.

“I…think I know”, she said, tentatively “I’ve spent the last three days learning everything I can from Dr. Banner about early onset Dormancy.”

“So?”

Becca tilted her head towards the door.

It was an obvious hint, but Bucky wasn’t having any of it.

“Forget it, Sis. I’m not leaving him here like this.”

She widened her eyes.

“Okay, okay…”, he grumbled.

Bucky rose from his chair by the bedside, much to Steve’s visible distress.

“Don’t worry, Baby. I’m not going anywhere, I just need to go talk to Becca okay?”

Over by the door, and out of Steve’s earshot (he hoped), Becca whispered “His hind brain’s taking over in preparation for the dormancy phase. Steve’s fought tooth and nail to be independent all his life, and that’s made him unusually strong-willed and dominant for an Omega boy. So, his natural reaction to losing control of his higher faculties is to fight it. And the harder he fights, the more he stops himself from going into dormancy; and the more he stops himself from healing.”

“So, what can I do?”

Becca shrugged “I wish I knew, Buckaroo. You could try talking to him, but it’s difficult to tell how reliable his reasoning is right now.”

“I hear ya, Sis.”

He returned to Steve, but instead of the chair, he sat beside his fiancé on the bed.

“Sweetheart?” he cooed, “You’re doing so good. You’re safe and you’re loved, and you’re going to be just fine. You just gotta let it happen. Whatever you’re thinking about sayin’ to me, it doesn’t matter no more. Nothing needs to be done. We got it all covered. You can relax.”

He could see the look of concentration on Steve’s face as he tried to make sense of the jumble of words. Bucky reasoned that listening to things, even simple things, was just making matters worse.

Very gently, he cradled Steve’s head in his hand, and guided him towards his scent gland. “Shhhhh….just breathe me in, baby”, he murmured. His words didn’t matter anymore; it was his tone of voice that counted. The tiny turret room flooded with protective, comforting Alpha scent. Steve’s whining stilled and his body relaxed in the crook of Bucky’s arm.

 

-*-

 

“Transition phase?”

“Huh?”

A late middle-aged Alpha with weathered features and a fond smile had been watching Bucky pace up and down the main corridor, from a side-room towards the centre of Phoenix Ward. He was dressed in a Lincoln green lounge suit that had obviously seen better days. His Alpha scent was subtle and smoky, like a fine aged Scotch whisky. He bore his throat politely to indicate he was no threat, but Bucky could tell that just from his kindly expression.

“The name’s Bradock; Brian Braddock.”

“Bucky Barnes.” Bucky shook the Alpha’s hand. “I take it you’re a relative?”

“You…could say that,” Brian glanced back into the side-room, inviting Bucky to join him with an open gesture. He respectfully peered into the gloom to see a diminutive figure buried under a sea of blankets. The face peeking out was pale and freckled, and his bright bronze hair spread out like a flame over his pillow.

“That’s my Jamie, my little Scottish wildflower. We’ve been together 25 years now, and married for very nearly 20 of them.”

“Oh”, said Bucky. “So, how’s he doing?”

“Okay, I think. He’s in his third month. The firm I was working for offered me early retirement so I could visit whenever I wanted, even if though it’s mostly just to watch him sleep.”

Bucky frowned. If Brian’s Omega boy was the same age as him, then surely he’d be way past childbearing age.”

“I see. I’m….”

“You’re wondering why he’s here, aren’t you?”, Brian neatly anticipated.

Bucky blushed. “That’s really none of my business. I didn’t mean to pry”

“No, it’s fine”, Brian. “Besides, you and I are the only two Alphas left on the ward right now. It’s good to have a friend who’s going through the same sort of thing.”

Brian smiled back at his Omega boy with a hefty sigh. The look was as personally affectionate as any that Bucky gave to Steve, and out of respect he averted his gaze, settling instead on the late evening sunlight streaming in through the huge arched windows of the old Victorian ward.

“Why is it just the two of us?”

Brian turned back. Bucky scented the subtlety of carefully disguised Alpha sorrow, with just a hint of loneliness.

“When I was young, I came to this same ward to visit a school friend’s Omega father. Back then there were many more diseases that led to pregnancy complications and miscarriages in Omega boys: fevers, consumptions and infections, some of which we’ve cured since then, and others which stalk the land even today, like Polio.”

Bucky’s blood ran cold at the word.

“So, Phoenix ward keeps limping on, ready to assess and guide the next generation of Omega boys through their dormancy cycles. We’ll never know what new diseases and heart-breaking traumas will await the Omegas we love and protect in the future, especially during this…this God-forsaken war.”

He looked so sad. He looked ready to tell. But Bucky felt it best to gently prompt.

“And what was your story, Brian?”

“We’re both old and grey, my friend. I thought we’d been spared the dangers of dormancy, but I was wrong. They say there’s no fool like an old fool.”

Suppressing a sob, he pressed on. “We only had two children, and the youngest, our sweet little Patrice had just turned sixteen when that big air raid hit York last year. You must have heard of it?”

Bucky nodded.

“Well, Patrice was working at the telephone exchange that night. The exchange was hit with incendiaries and she was trapped by the flames. They managed to get her out, but she was so very badly burned. She suffered terribly for months, but Jamie simply wouldn’t give up on her. He harried the doctors, researched new treatments and tried out just about every remedy in the book. When she finally died early in the New Year, Jamie couldn’t live with the grief of losing her, or perhaps the guilt of keeping her alive to for so long when there was no real hope she’d recover. There was no way he could have known that of course, but…” Brian shrugged, “You know Omega boys. When they get something into their heads, it’s impossible to pull it back out again.”

Bucky nodded his agreement. He recalled only too well, how Steve had combed the hospital library to rescue him from his own trauma. But Brian’s story brought into sharp relief how little he knew about Omega boys himself.

“I’m very sorry Brian. I’d no idea that losing a child so late in life had that kind of effect on Omegas.”

“Usually it doesn’t. But this was something of an extreme case. Luckily the length of time we’ve been together counted in our favour and Jamie began nesting even before he was admitted here.”

“That’s good.”

“So, what about your boy?”

Bucky had been listening to Brian’s story so intently that it’s hadn’t even occurred to him that he might be asked to tell his own…especially to a stranger. He recoiled at the idea.

“Oh, I’m so sorry”, said Brian quickly “I…I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No…it’s…. something I’ll have to get used to telling, I guess”, said Bucky with a sigh. It’s just…you’re just the first person who’s asked me, that’s all.”

Brian bit his lip; Bucky could scent the bitter almond of Brian’s Alpha guilt. “Well, you don’t have to say…”

Bucky interrupted, figuring he may as well get the first time over with, and at least with Brian, he was speaking to an Alpha who might actually understand some of what he was going through.

“My Stevie’s home was bombed in the recent attack on the hospital. It was the night before our wedding. His whole family was killed, and he lost our baby.”

“Oh God…that’s…that’s awful”, Brian gasped, “But….but….”

“But what?” asked Bucky.

“But…he…survived? After all of that?”

Bucky stopped short, considering the significance of that question.

“You do realise that 99 out of 100 Omegas would have just given up at that point?” Brian explained. “They’d have died of shock and grief within the hour. Either he’s the strongest Omega boy that ever lived or you two are so much in love that you can survive anything except losing each other.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped. This man, this complete stranger, who he never even knew existed up until a few minutes ago…he got it. He actually got it.

“I think it’s a bit of both”, said Bucky, candidly

“As a fellow Alpha, I salute you”, said Brian. “There’s so much fear about Omega boys out there, so much petty discrimination against us. You’re living proof of how strong our relationships can be.”

Bucky smiled weakly. “I’m so sorry. I hate to be rude, but I’d best get back to him.”

“Not at all, I quite understand”, said Brian. “This phase is difficult and you need to be with your Stevie. I hope it passes quickly and I’ll that have the chance to speak with you again, my friend.”

 

-*-

 

The next few days continued in much the same way. Something would distress Steve; a stray observation or a rogue idea - trifling in itself, but nonetheless important to him - would pop into his head, demanding expression, then jam itself into an infuriating cycle, until he finally abandoned it to moulder and putrefy as he forgot what it was he’d even tried to say.

Each time Bucky’s response stayed resolutely the same: comfort and reassurance, tone of voice and scent. And each time, Steve’s anxious episode would shorten by just a fraction.

Then, on the Sunday after their planned wedding Bucky woke of his own accord. No nurse tapped on his door to alert him to Steve’s distress. As soon as he realised, he glanced at his watch only to find he’d been sleeping for over 10 hours, no doubt making up for lost time. Without even pausing to get dressed, he stole into Steve’s turret room.

His fiancé was curled up quietly, facing towards him, his eyes closed, sucking on his thumb. He looked so peaceful. Bucky crept out again, surrendered a heavy sigh of relief, and rewarded himself with the treat of a leisurely shower and breakfast.

By lunchtime, however, he was beginning to feel worried by Steve’s continued silence.

“Is this normal?” he asked Dr. Banner, as he did his ward rounds early that afternoon.

The gynaecologist looked through Steve’s patient chart at the foot of his bed, then pulled up his patient’s eyelids to peer into their depths.

He straightened up and steered Bucky out of the room.

Once outside, he shook Bucky’s hand. “I think congratulations are in order. Steve’s successfully reached his dormancy cycle, and from what I gather, you were instrumental in getting him there safely.”

Bucky blushed. “It was all down to him really.”

“Clearly he had the inherent ability to go into the cycle, but his resistance to letting go of his higher brain functions could very easily have killed him, if you hadn’t been on hand to provide the reassurance he needed.”

“Anybody could have done that.”

Dr. Banner shook his head. “No false modesty, please. For a start, no-one else would have had the dedication to be with him on a constant basis to handle each of his episodes. And from what I can see in Becca’s detailed patient notes, you adjusted your style from language to scent over time. In other words, you gave him what he needed. He couldn’t handle speeches, so you gave him scents instead.”

Bucky considered that for a moment. “You know, I never through of it that way”

“Well, I’m proud of you, young man. I’ve known plenty of Alphas who couldn’t handle the transition phase. You’ve given him a fighting chance.”

“So, what happens next?” Bucky asked, feeling emboldened by the unexpected praise.

Dr. Banner paused to make a note on the chart before answering. “If this cycle functions predictably, and I don’t see any reason why it shouldn’t, then he’ll reach a level of semi-consciousness every Sunday from now on, probably during the hours of dusk. Our evolutionary ancestors were crepuscular, that is to say, they were most active in the twilight, so Steve should rouse about that time each week.”

“Just…just once a week?”

“He needs time to heal, Bucky”

“But…but how will he survive being awake for only a few hours?”

“If it’s needed, we’ll fix him up with a glucose and saline drip for nutrition and hydration, and a catheter for elimination. But to be honest, at the level of brain and body activity he’ll be exhibiting over the coming months, he’ll barely need to consume or eliminate anything anyway. And I wouldn’t exactly say he’ll be awake during his weekly cycle either. He’ll just acknowledge your presence and crave you for touch comfort and for scent comfort.”

“But my Stevie’s so small and so weak. You said yourself that it might be a problem. Would he be able to eat and drink at that time?”

Dr. Banner scratched the back of his head. “That’s a fair point. I guess we’ll have to see what level of consciousness he achieves each week and work out what’s possible. That thumb sucking response might just prove to be a useful characteristic, if he keeps doing it.”

“So, how can I help?

“Ah, well there’s the real challenge,” said Dr Banner. “You’ve got the hardest job of all. You need to get back on with your life.”

“But Steve…”

“Doesn’t need you any more, except for once a week”, Banner cut in. “He’s curled up in that nest for the next nine months, and there’s nothing any of us can do except keep him safe, warm and comfortable.”

 

-*-

 

Bucky took baby steps at first. With much of Vyner Street levelled and no prospect of compensation from a home insurance policy that didn’t cover ‘acts of war’, Bucky’s priority was putting the remainder of the affairs of the Rogers family in order. Sarah had deposited a will at the bank, which placed all assets and decisions in the hands of her son. In practical terms this meant, with Steve in dormancy, that it was Bucky’s unhappy duty to bury what was left of his pack.

Most of the local businesses he’d hired for the wedding reimbursed Bucky out of sympathy for his position. Together with Sarah’s meagre savings, that was enough to pay the funeral costs. Aside from her late husband, whose body had never been found, Nat had no family other than Sarah and Steve, so it made sense for her to be reunited in death with her sister and their mother, Grandma Rose. Bucky then made an emotional but fitting choice when it came to the fate of Steve’s mother. No parent should ever have to go through the heartache of burying their child, but there was no way that Bucky and Steve’s baby was going into that horrible darkness all alone. Bucky gently placed the body of his daughter, his little rosebud, into Sarah’s loving arms, before the coffin lid was nailed shut upon them both.

The vicar of Holy Trinity explained to him that these interments effectively filled the Rogers family grave, leaving no room for Steve should he lose his ongoing battle for life. However, there was space for a grave plot adjacent to theirs to be opened at considerable expense. Using up his own savings, together with a sizable portion of Clint’s bequest, Bucky secured that precious plot for two people, for he swore by the Alpha code that if his Stevie died, then he would find a way to stay with him in England for the rest of eternity.

The funerals took place a week and a day after the wedding had been due to take place. The weather was wretched; it never stopped raining for a moment, but the elements entirely matched Bucky’s mood. Without Steve’s reassuring presence, he had no hand left to hold and comfort him. There were no rays of sunshine left to paint the dark clouds in his heart. Instead, he was forced to stand there alone and powerless to intervene as his daughter and the rest of his sweet little English family were lowered into their graves and slowly sucked down into the stinking mud.

The rain helped. It gave the appearance that he was weeping, but no tears fell. Since he first landed on the island, he’d rolled the dice and sixes had come up for him, even the ‘Lady Luck’ had brought him home safe. Now, staring into that monstrous black hole his baby had been consigned to forever, he saw the malicious dot of snake eyes winking back at him. He’d patted himself on the back for his good fortune for so long, that it was almost fitting that fate should repay him so cruelly.

He tried to stem the self-loathing, for Becca’s sake if for no-one else. Stark, Peggy and Beth conducted themselves impeccably at the grave side; respectful and stiff-upper-lipped as befitting the favoured children of a dying Empire, but Becca knew her brother well; far too well. The look on her face spoke volumes.

“We gotta get you out of here”, she hissed, in hushed tones, towards the end of the sombre reception.

Bucky nodded. “I hear ya, Sis. I badly need some fresh air, even if I get soaked to the skin in the process.”

“That’s not what I meant, Buckaroo. You need a break from this country.”

“What? Have you lost your senses? And leave Steve?”

“Steve won’t even know that you’re gone. It only has to be for a few days.”

“Oh, I see”, Bucky sneered sarcastically. You want me to bring you some shoes back from Paris?”

Becca glared up at him. “You know very well I’d die if you ever flew over occupied Europe again, Buckaroo.”

“Then what exactly did you have in min….oh no”, he groaned. “No, Becca, no. I absolutely refuse to slink back to the States with my tail between my legs.”

“No”, she huffed. “Something Alphas say to begin with.”

“Becca, I’m warning you now, don’t you push me on this. No means no!”

 

-*-

 

A leisurely routine set in.

Bucky would reach Phoenix Ward around 6pm of a Sunday evening. He often had ample time for a brief conversation with Brian, before they both went their separate ways. There was an unspoken rule amongst the nursing staff. Wake-time between Alphas and Omega boys was sacrosanct. Unless the ward was on fire, the door stayed firmly closed.

Steve’s waking was signalled by little mewling noises from the back of his throat. On that signal, Bucky would hastily get naked and position himself on the bed, his arm protectively around his Omega boy, scent gland pressed up tight against Steve’s nose.

“Baby, are you gonna wake up for me?”

Steve eyelids would flutter open, but his baby blues remained leaden and heavy with sleep. As Dr. Banner had explained, his consciousness was very limited; his subconscious mind verifying that he was safe and loved, so that healing could continue for another weekly cycle. He’d invariably snuggle up as close to Bucky’s body heat as he could, sighing longingly with half-remembered pleasure. It was at those times, that Bucky dearly wished he could hear Steve’s voice again, but the gynaecologist had warned him against rousing Steve further. Hearing an Omega boy’s voice before those 9 months were up was a sure-fire precursor to death, and he was only too aware that danger was ever present during this precarious dormancy period. Only around half of the Omega boys that slipped into dormancy made it out alive. They weren’t out of the woods yet.

Dr. Banner was right about the thumb-sucking too. Semi-conscious Steve liked to mouthe. He couldn’t ask Sarah or Nat whether he had been like that as a baby, but in his dream-like state, Steve would lick and suck on Bucky’s fingers like they were the most magical things in the world. He supposed that Steve would love to dive into his soft scented thicket of chest hair, but he was too afraid that his fiancé would choke himself as he had almost done once before.

Sometimes Bucky would become so aroused by Steve’s loving actions, and his own abstinence from knotting, that he’d grow stiff, and the smell of Alpha arousal would drive Steve to whine and mewl to suckle on Bucky’s shaft. Shamefaced he’d confessed as much to Dr. Banner. The gynaecologist had explained that whilst there was nothing inherently wrong with any kind of suckling activity, Bucky would have to remain perfectly still, because Steve’s airway could block were he to thrust forward in the throes of passion.

No matter how desperate he became, Bucky wouldn’t sacrifice his fiancé’s recovery for his own carnal pleasure. Instead, he tried to substitute his sexual arousal for the even stronger Alpha instincts to comfort and protect. Usually it worked, especially when he combined it with feeding.

“You want a little num-num?”

Steve was already fond of Bucky’s fingers. It didn’t take him and Dr. Banner long to figure out that he would lick up anything Bucky put on those fingers - jam, whipped cream…anything smooth so that he couldn’t choke. He even got his folks to ship over a case of smooth peanut butter. Steve seemed especially eager for that. Bucky chuckled to himself that a conscious Steve would probably have had something withering to say about being fed American treats whilst incapable of refusing them, but now was not the time for such frivolity.

Later, he discussed something even more embarrassing with the gentle gynaecologist. He knew Steve loved to mouthe and suckle, but in addition to licking at food, could he also be fed milk from a baby’s bottle? The very idea seemed shameful to him, as if he was infantilising his fiancé, but essentially that’s what Steve had become during his dormancy period anyway. In terms of nutrition, Dr Banner thought the nutrient content of whole milk would be very beneficial to Steve’s recovery. In terms of the delivery, he suggested Bucky try the bottle method for himself, in the absolute privacy of their wake-times together.

With equal parts triumph and shame, he watched as Steve chugged on the baby’s bottle with relish. As the weeks progressed, Bucky started taking a genuine pleasure in cradling his Stevie’s head and pressing the teat to his eager lips, watching with what he could only describe as awe as the love of his life suckled and mewled contentedly for him.

After feeding, Bucky would settle Steve down again, whispering sweet low comforting sounds in his ear, and Steve would snuggle back up against his Alpha, breathing in his scent and humming softly. The return of a steady, regular breathing rhythm indicated that Steve had left the conscious world once again for another weekly cycle of recovery.

For the first couple of weeks, Bucky cried bitterly when the nurses tapped gently on the door as an indication it was time for him to leave. But gradually he grew accustomed to slipping away a few minutes before they arrived, leaving a perfect afterglow reflecting in his Sunshine Boy’s cheeks.

 


	39. Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. I hope that you're all bearing up under the current situation. For those who may be feeling unwell in mind, body or spirit, I sincerely wish for your speedy recovery.

 

 

“Mom? Dad? I’m home!”

“Becca? Oh my God, Becca…” Winifred rushed breathless to the door. “We didn’t expect you home for at least another wee…”

Winifred stopped short, hardly daring to believe her eyes.

“B...Bucky?”

“Hi Ma”, Bucky ventured, sheepishly.

“Oh, my sweet, sweet boy!” Winifred wrapped her arms around him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

Becca snorted to herself. She’d learned to tough out the favouritism. Though he’d always counter it with outraged denial, she always knew her brother was a bit of a mommy’s boy.

George Barnes stared at his son as if he’d seen a ghost. Becca wasn’t sure whether he was staring at him in general or, more specifically, at his missing arm. Brother and sister had a discussion in the hackie from the airport, in terms of whether it was better for Bucky to keep his prosthetic on, as he had in his military meetings the day before, or remove it. It was a tough call. Wearing it might have made him appear more…well, normal, for want of a better word, but that was only a temporary illusion. And the aluminium grasper wasn’t exactly natural looking. Besides, he rarely wore the cumbersome thing when it wasn’t strictly necessary, so it was probably better for his family if Bucky let them get used to seeing him without it.

Ever the Alpha, George hugged Becca, but not her brother. He simply shook Bucky’s remaining hand warmly, but the tears in his eyes said more than any physical gesture ever could.

“Pa, I’m…I’m sorry” Bucky managed, hesitantly.

George blinked. “Huh? Sorry for what, Buckaroo?”

“For messing up. For not protecting my Omega. For not protecting my ‘pack’. For …for not keeping them safe.”

George furrowed his brows sternly. “Son, I don’t know what you could possibly mean. We have the Alpha Code for sure, but you did your level best to protect your pack. Aint no power on earth can deflect a falling bomb.”

“I just feel…”

“We can talk over all that later”, George cut him off. “For now, get yourself and your sister in here. This is a happy day, let’s not spoil it”

 

-*-

 

That was the exact phrase Becca had used to get Bucky back to the States. The barb on the hook of her argument.

“When have you done anything for yourself since all this happened? When are you ever even happy anymore?” she had demanded “You’re gonna wear yourself out with all this worry and then you’ll be no use at all to Steve.”

“This ain’t no pleasure trip”, Bucky had argued back. “We’re at war. What if the ‘plane doesn’t make it? Then I’ll never get back home and Steve will die without me.”

“Bucky, you can argue the “what if’s” ‘till the cows come home. What if the hospital gets bombed again?”

“That’s a low blow,” he’d snarled

Becca had immediately regretted saying it. She knew Steve couldn’t be moved to safety in his dormant state, and raising the vivid spectre of Vyner Street was insensitive to say the least.

“I know, I’m…I’m sorry. I guess what I’m trying to say is that none of us truly knows what the future holds do we? Wouldn’t you like to see our folks? What with this war in the Far East, no-one really knows how things might turn out? Couldn’t you at least think about it? I have to go back anyway now my placement’s coming to an end. If nothing else, you’d be good company on the flight back.”

Becca’s last remark allowed Bucky to dismiss the notion as sisterly selfishness, but she was right about one thing. He was wearing himself out. He’d never admit it to a living soul of course, but going back to Topcliffe had been a mixed blessing. It was great to get back in the air, and enjoy the companionship of others, and Peggy and Stark and Beth had all been wonderful with him, but, as time wore on, the loss of his sunshine boy robbed him of much of the pleasure of his work. If Stark noticed the change, he didn’t show it, but Stark’s temporary secretary wasn’t nearly as hesitant about expressing her feelings.

“Here’s the dress uniform as promised”, Peggy had said, handing him a package in brown paper tied up with string. “This should cheer you up!”

Sadly, it had exactly the opposite effect.

Bucky hadn’t been able to face the ruins of Vyner Street since that fateful night. Peggy had co-ordinated the salvage effort, but there was little left in his former home that wasn’t either scorched beyond recognition or smashed beyond repair. A little box of keepsakes from Sarah’s bedside table - mostly cherished family photographs and dress jewellery, had slipped into a crevice in the rubble hidden from the flames. Steve and Bucky’s bedroom wardrobe wasn’t too badly damaged either, and Bucky’s best uniform and two of Clint’s repurposed suits had survived intact. Peggy had to give the clothes a thorough laundering of course; the scent of smoke, fear and death had persisted stubbornly in their fibres, but she’d entertained the false hope that being reunited with that dress uniform would give Bucky a much-needed confidence boost.

“I’m flogging a dead horse here aren’t I?”, she said.

“What?”

“You, I mean”, Peggy clarified. “You’re practically dead on your feet half the time.”

Bucky’s jaw had set. “I get my work done. I do my training.”

“No doubt; but when was the last time you enjoyed it?”

“What are you talking about? I like being here.”

“That would explain why you spend your spare time in the repair hangars, staring blankly at spare parts.”

“It’s important the aircraft are in good working order.”

“That usually requires a conversation with the engineers doesn’t it?”

“Usually”, Bucky had confirmed, guardedly.

“Then how come Beth tells me you’ve not said a word to anyone in there for over a week?”

He’d turned on his heel. Only Peggy’s gentle arm on his elbow had prevented him from actually storming out of Stark’s office.

“Bucky, I’m sorry. I don’t want you to hurt this much. I’m concerned about you. We all are.”

He’d sighed wearily.

“You’re just so unhappy all the time. What even makes you happy anymore?”

“Steve”, said Bucky instantly.

“And Steve would be really unhappy if he knew you were feeling like this, wouldn’t he?”

He’d nodded. “But it’s only temporary. He’ll be with me again soon.”

Peggy didn’t point out that 6 months wasn’t ‘soon’ by any reasonable definition. And she certainly didn’t need to remind him there was a 50/50 chance of Steve never recovering at all.

“Bucky”, she’d said, very carefully. “You need to give your heart a rest now. You need to smile again. Please. If you won’t do it for me, or even for your sister, then do it for Steve, okay?”

Peggy’s solution involved applying a little gentle pressure to her fiancé, resulting in Stark’s invitation for Bucky to stay with them at his recently purchased thatched cottage in the village of Easingwold. It was a lot closer to Topcliffe than Vyner Street had been, and a lot more comfortable than the dormitory hut he’d been staying in at the airfield. There was even the bonus of a familiar feline to keep him company, since Peggy had decided to keep Spitfire. Spitfire himself was happy enough with his new home’s cosy kitchen and extensive hunting grounds, but Bucky still felt uneasy, like an uninvited guest.

And then the Squadron Leader received that call from Thurleigh, only four months too late, confirming Bucky’s appointment as a liaison officer between British, Imperial and American forces in the North of England. It carried no fresh honours, featured no pay raise, and certainly jingled no medals, but none of that concerned Bucky.

Stark’s only concern was the timing.

“Why now?” he’d stormed. “We’ve got a fresh intake for training at the end of June.”

“What’s the problem, sir? I’m not like I’m being stationed at Thurleigh now, am I?” queried Bucky.

“No”, Stark had conceded. “Not even they would be that insensitive. They’re well aware of your caring responsibilities for your Omega. I’m guessing that’s why they’re saying they only want you in Washington for three days.”

Bucky had reeled at the shock of Stark’s words. But there it was, in black and white, a letter from the Pentagon requesting Captain Barnes’ presence for a high-level meeting to discuss relations between Allied air forces in England.

“Forget the ‘why now?’ question, sir”, Bucky had said “What I want to know is, why me?”

“Oh, that’s the easy part”, sniffed Stark. “You’re now the highest ranked US officer working alongside non-US forces, you’re the only US airman to have been awarded the Victoria Cross, and - as far as I know - you’re only the second one to have met the King of England.”

“I’m also the only one with a dormant Omega boy”, grumbled Bucky.

“It’s three days Captain; you’ll be back before the weekend.”

And that was that. Becca jumped at the chance to tug her brother in the direction she’d wanted, and - through Peggy’s influence - arranged for Stark to assign her a place on the same military transport.

Even the additional stop in Washington was useful for Becca. She needed to speak to the committee at Georgetown University who had sponsored her work exchange programme in the first place, so she timed it so that Bucky’s meeting coincided with her own.

 

-*-

 

“Brigadier General Ross?”

“Ah, Barnes. So good to see you again”, said the gruff moustachioed Alpha he’d met in the bar of the Hotel Russell the year before. “Listen, I’m really sorry to hear about your Lieutenant Rogers, A terrible business. Please be assured the arrangements we had in place before the incident are still good to go if…”, he paused to rephrase himself“…when your Omega boy comes out of dormancy.”

“Thank you, sir”, Bucky had replied, tight-lipped and edgy. “I genuinely appreciate knowing that offer’s still good. So, did you call this meeting?”

“Goodness no. That requires at least an extra star on the lapel.”

As if on cue, a larger than life character barnstormed his way into the meeting room, practically splintering the doorframe with his shoulders. Major General Odinson reeked of pure Alpha. An Alpha’s Alpha, he was 6 and a half feet of pure muscle, but Bucky couldn’t help thinking how alike his hair was to the blond halo of his sweet little sunshine boy.

The wistful smile on Bucky’s face caught Odinson off guard. He’d grown accustomed to every kind of reaction to his authority. Every kind, that is, but this.

“Gentlemen, resume your seats”, he growled in the deepest bass.

Having received immediate compliance, he continued. “So, I guess the first item of business is to take a note of any outstanding disciplinary issues betwee….”

Odinson sighed. “Captain Barnes, are you with us?”

“Mmmhm?”, Bucky hummed.

“Is there a reason why you’re making heart-eyes at me like I’m your boyfriend?”, Odinson rumbled.

Bucky’s dreamy expression shifted to one undiluted horror.

Odinson bit his lip. He appreciated the practically limitless extent of his power and influence. He could command pretty much anything he wished, but he liked to think that heaping public shame on another Alpha was never a part of his personal agenda.

“It’s okay, Captain Barnes. Quite flattering actually. And it certainly makes a change from inspiring fear”, he backpedalled.

The meeting dragged on in the same interminable fashion as meetings tend to. At the three-hour mark, with several of the servicemen trying, but not succeeding, to disguise their need for an urgent trip to the bathroom, Odinson finally relented and called for a coffee break.

Bucky dearly would have loved to run and hide after his incident with the Major General, but his own bladder felt empty and the aroma of real filter coffee, after 18 months of deprivation in England without even the pale substitute of ‘camp’ – the last dregs of which had been lost forever in the ruins of Vyner Street - proved way too tempting to pass up.

“Sorry about that, Captain”, said Odinson, taking Bucky to one side.

“No, it’s my fault entirely, sir. It’s just that I miss my Omega boy so badly.”

The pain etched on Bucky’s face was plain to see. Odinson clearly wasn’t used to receiving genuine reactions to anything. No-one said or did anything that wasn’t a reflection of absolute obedience in his presence.

“Is he ill?”, Odinson asked.

“Dormancy”, Bucky answered, in a low voice.

Odinson crossed himself. Bucky wasn’t to know it, but he’d hit a very raw nerve.

“I sympathise, son. My own parents…well…I was their firstborn, but my younger brother was stillborn. My Omega father was very strong and very brave. He tried to stay with us, he went into dormancy, but…he…he didn’t make it.”

Bucky nodded glassy-eyed. During his childhood, he’d never really heard anything about Omega boys aside from playground taunts and vague warnings. Now he had Steve, he kept hearing personal stories of great courage from other people. His heart swelled with pride to hear of Odinson’s brave father, but ached to learn of the loss. He hoped and prayed it wasn’t a portent of Steve’s story.

Bucky coloured shyly. “I fell in love with a beautiful English boy with Polio. He was so brave, sir. He defended the railway where he worked from an incendiary raid, he survived a brutal sexual attack from not one but two American Alphas, but…” his voice broke “…when they bombed his home and killed his family…”

He didn’t even realise the tears had started to fall until he felt an enormous muscular hand rest on his forearm.

“It’s okay, son. I understand. I should have read the briefing papers more thoroughly. You’re our new appointee from Thurleigh aren’t you?”

“Topcliffe, sir. I’ve kindly been given leave to remain near York to be with my Stevie.”

“Stevie…as in?”

“Steve Rogers”

“Not Second Lieutenant Rogers, by any chance?”

“Yes, that’s…that’s right sir”, gasped Bucky in undisguised astonishment.

“Brigadier General Ross told me about him. I didn’t realise you two were related.”

Bucky nodded. “Sadly, his home was destroyed and he lost the baby less than a day before our wedding.”

The haunting Irish folksong drifted unbidden through Bucky’s head. “It will not be long, love, till our wedding day”, Steve had sung.

Odinson closed his eyes and shuddered. He’d never seen a man so powerful show such vulnerability, at least not in public.

“I’m sorry I was so insensitive earlier”, he said “You must be frantic with worry, being ordered over here when Lieutenant Rogers is in England.”

“It’s not easy sir”, Bucky admitted. “Though my sister thought seeing our family might do me some good.”

“But…you’re not so sure?”

“I…I don’t know sir. Standing here, in an office full of all-American Alphas…well, I should fit in. But somehow I can’t stop feeling that I’m an orange in a barrel full of apples.”

Odinson barked out a bitter laugh. “I think you’ll find some of these apples are rotten to the core. But…I take your point. War feels pretty real when you’re living with bombing raids and constant rationing, so when you’re flown into an air-conditioned meeting room to see well-fed Alphas play fancy war games…”, he waved an enormous arm around the room full of uniforms, “…then it’s all too easy to call bullshit. A lot to Alphas stationed in England for extended tours of duty feel sore over that mismatch, but the truth is your boyfriend’s country desperately needs us. Almost as much as I’m sure your folks need you, and I’m sure they’ll be overjoyed to have you home.”

Bucky smiled a genuine smile. He could see Odinson understood how conflicted he felt.

“Listen, son. Let me level with you here. You’re here for one item on this meeting’s agenda today, and one item only. And that’s on account of your knowledge of the British Royal family.”

“I’m not sure 10 minutes with the King of England counts as knowledge, sir.”

“It’s 10 minutes more than anyone else in this room, and let’s not forget that the Victoria Cross is the ultimate mark of respect and acknowledgement by the British establishment.”

Bucky wanted to protest, but Odinson’s tone brooked no further debate as to his suitability. “So, what exactly is the issue, sir”

“Thurleigh’s been wanting to name some of their bomber fleet after members of the British Royal family. There’s a difference of opinion as to whether this would be a respectful gesture or…”

“No! Don’t let them do it, sir,” Bucky cut in. “If any of those bombers were shot down, the Germans would have an enormous propaganda victory, and the British would have to live with the shame of it. Have Thurleigh even consulted anyone in the Royal family about this?”

Odinson shook his head as he continued. “It’s not within your remit to tell them not to do it, Captain, but I’ll speak to my superior Lieutenant General Doolittle, who’s agreed to subtly monitor Thurleigh’s activities in that regard, and I’ll also issue some very strongly worded advice to that effect. Thank you for your valuable input.”

“You’re welcome, sir”

“Now grab another cup of coffee and get the hell out of here. The sooner you’re on a ‘plane to see your folks, the sooner you can take another one back to Lieutenant Rogers. But Captain…?”

“Yes sir?”

“Use your time wisely. Get some comfort from being with your family. Dormancy can be a very lonely time.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much sir.”

 

-*-

 

And so, his dad was right. This had to be a happy day, not one spoiled with grief or regret. The loneliness would surge back soon enough. There was little point in summoning it prematurely.

Bucky rolled the dice again, and out fell more sixes. It all started with a most unexpected announcement from Becca.

“I’ve spoken with Georgetown, and they’ve agreed to renew my nursing extension in York for another year.”

“What?” gasped George, astonished.

“But we hoped we’d have you home safe now”, added Winifred.

Becca shrugged. “I can’t let my brother have all the fun by himself. Besides, when Steve returns to consciousness, his leg muscles will have completely wasted away. Without my specialist physiotherapy, he’ll find it nearly impossible to walk again.”

There was no answer to that. Neither parent could dispute her medical opinion, but George could be stubborn. He found a way round that.

“And if the hospital gets bombed again?”

Bucky quickly glanced at his sister. They both knew the hospital had proved a tempting target to enemy bombers, but this was hardly the time to distress them over the safety of Bucky’s sister, or his fiancé.

“Then I’ll need to be as brave as Bucky and Steve”, she said, simply.

They were saved from further argument, when two more of Bucky’s sisters appeared in time for dinner, eager for news about England and his brush with royalty. But most of all, everyone wanted to know about Steve. It was comforting for Bucky to be able to speak of his fiancé with such pride without dwelling on the sadness too much.

The story of Steve’s battle with the incendiary bombs had them all on the edge of their seats, and his dad derived a grim satisfaction from learning how much damage his fiancé had done to Major Pierce.

“He was all over the papers here, you know”, George confirmed. “They didn’t just pack him off to jail like that Rumlow guy, he went straight to death row, and by all accounts if the chair hadn’t killed him, his fellow inmates would have. They repeatedly tried to get at him. An Alpha with that level of power over folks exploiting it for personal and sexual gain…well, he deserved everything he got.”

Understandably, his mom was more interested in hearing about Bucky’s courtship. The curious rituals of fish and chips, bathtub canoodling and the oddest Thanksgiving meal ever eaten brought out the dimples in her cheeks. “I wish I could have shown you that knitted hot dog” grinned Bucky “It was so funny looking, but…we never found it in the rubble.”

He managed to save what threatened to turn into a very sad memory by remembering something that had been rescued from the rubble.

“Anyway, mom, this is for you. Although I can’t ask him, I reckon my Stevie would want you to have it.”

He presented her with Sarah’s little keepsake box.

Winifred flipped through the photographs.

“Is this?…” She pointed to two ladies in summer dresses standing on the street outside a neat row of houses

“That’s Steve’s mum Sarah and her sister Nat, taken about 20 years ago, when Sarah moved into Vyner Street. That’s what our home looked like.”

“What a lovely little house”, said Sarah “They’re all joined together, like the Brownstones here.”

“Kinda, only they call them Terraced houses.”

“You must miss it.”

“Yes, I had a lot of happy memories there”, Bucky sighed. “But now there’s nothing left to go back to.”

“And this one?”

“Oh, that’s Sarah with Steve as a baby, before the Polio. It’s black and white of course, but you can see how fair his hair was even then.”

Winifred gave a little gasp as she turned to the final photograph.

“So this must be…”

“Yeah, that’s my Sunshine Boy, taken two years ago when he started working for the railways. Luckily he’s not wearing his uniform in that picture because it never did fit him properly.”

The picture was perfect. It was the ultimate representation of Steve exactly how Bucky remembered him, as slender as ever, with his trousers held up by suspenders, self-consciously trying to disguise his walking sticks and leg braces by draping a gabardine coat over one arm, but sporting a purposefully determined grin on his face.

George Barnes was a loving father, a protective husband and a good provider. Sometimes that made him appear a little stern with his children. But Bucky saw from that one look at Steve’s photograph, that his father’s Alpha heart had melted. George didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Bucky could scent the pride swelling within him. George loved his son’s Omega boy with all his heart.

Giving a gruff cough to disguise the emotion, he blustered. “So, this is the Omega boy who defied the Voice, beat up an Alpha, took on the Luftwaffe twice and made my son dance backwards.”

“Yes sir.”

“I can see right away that’s he’s gonna be a bit of handful in the family!”

George looked to his wife. Winifred said nothing to that, but she had tears in her eyes.

“What’s wrong, mom”

“I’m sorry Bucky it’s just….it’s just he reminds me of my Omega grandfather so much. He’s got the same eyes.”

“And the same engagement ring, thanks to you, mom.”

“So, when will…when will we know…”, she choked on the question.

Bucky sighed. “December; probably just before Christmas, but there’s no precise date. He has his semi-conscious episode every Sunday evening, regular as clockwork.”

“That’s a good sign”, George assured him. “It means he’s healing steadily.”

“I hope you’re able to comfort him, honey”, said Winifred, turning one of Sarah’s Vermeil lapel brooches over in her fingers to admire it.

Bucky smiled to himself. “Honey” was the pet name Steve had given him, but he would keep that a secret. And his way of comforting his fiancé would stay a secret too. Some things between an Alpha and an Omega were sacrosanct; this was one of them. However, the vision of caring for Steve that his mind, conjured up at that moment, served as an important reminder to him.

And on the military transport ‘plane back over the Atlantic, brother and sister distracted themselves from thoughts of fighter interception by cradling several jars of the finest New York smooth peanut butter that money could buy in their hand luggage.

 

 


	40. Silk

 

Silk.

 

Bucky could feel the cool smooth slickness of silk as he slid his fingertips along…

…yes, alongside his sweet Stevie’s arms…or were they his legs…come to think of it, that didn’t really matter…his skin had the same soft, smooth translucence, the same cool alabaster sensuousness…arms, or legs? who cared?. Steve was the man of his dreams…

…or rather, the man in his dreams….

Deep down, Bucky knew he must was dreaming…he knew his sunshine boy’s faint glow of life grew stronger and stronger in his little turret room on Phoenix ward, where one day….little English God willing….one day soon, he would rise from the ashes of dormancy and emerge conscious into Bucky’s arms again…once more able to return his affection….once more able to take his….

…oh he shouldn’t think that way, he knew it…but in that delicious space between half awake, and half asleep his Alpha knot begged for Steve’s gentle mouth, his pretty soft lips enveloping his shaft with that adorably shy smile on his face as he looked up with such love and trust at…

RAT,TAT,TAT,TAT

The rude abruptness of knuckle on wood jolted him awake

“Whu…Wha…”

“Barnes, I didn’t invite you here so you could douse my house in Alpha arousal. Quit your wet dreaming and get your ass downstairs. Breakfast’s ready…well, sort of…ish anyway.”

Damn. He immediately thought of the time he got caught out in the bunkhouse by Clint. But this was different. Back then, he wasn’t in Clint’s home, and - whilst technically of superior rank - they were at least comrades in arms. Discovering he’d stunk up the home of Squadron Leader Stark? Now that was a very different matter.

He bolted to the window and flung it open as wide as the crooked old casement would allow, launched himself into a tepid bath (this home had access to hot water, though being the last to rise - quite literally as it turned out - that precious commodity was nearly all gone).

As he trudged shamefacedly downstairs, he pondered Stark’s final words. “Breakfast’s ready…sort of…ish” was his code for “Peggy’s cooking and it might be a slice of burnt toast or a cremated sausage or maybe nothing at all - but we’d better both be goddamn grateful for it, or there’ll be no end to the grief.”

This morning he didn’t exactly roll a six…but his steaming bowl of porridge oats was a perfectly respectable five.

Stark grunted an acknowledgement as Bucky took his seat at the table, and went back to his two-day old paper. What he didn’t acknowledge was the faint traces of arousal scent, still vanquishing that double-dose of aftershave with which he’d tried to drown his scent gland.

“He’s always grumpy when he’s reading old news”, sniffed Peggy, blowing on her porridge to cool it. “Such a shame we don’t get free copies of the York Evening Press anymore.”

“That’s no great loss! it’s gone downhill since they changed the writers”, mumbled the voice from behind the newspaper.

Bucky smiled to himself. Stark always took care to acknowledge the loss of Steve in these subtle ways, reminding him that his fiancé remained a very special part their patchwork family. On the surface his stiff upper lip never trembled, but Bucky knew he cared. That’s probably what Peggy saw in him, buried deep beneath the military moustache and the Alpha bluster.

“Is it still too hot?”, asked Bucky, pointing to Peggy’s bowl.

“I only just made mine. But yours might be all right.”

“Ah, so I’m baby bear then?”

“Or are you Goldilocks?” Peggy teased.

“Nah”, grinned Bucky “He’s definitely still asleep.”

As if on cue, a dozing Spitfire lost his balance on top of the Welsh dresser and slid inelegantly to the floor to the sound of desperately flailing claws. The calico promptly picked himself up, shot his human hosts a stare of supreme feline indignation, defying any of them to pass comment, and sauntered off through the open kitchen window in search of his own breakfast.

“Well, I must say, you’re in a much better frame of mind since you got back from America”, Peggy continued, assiduously avoiding a comment on Spitfire’s mis-step. “I had no idea that proper coffee could have such a miraculous effect on you.”

“Don’t you know, it’s the elixir of life for Americans, my dear lady”, the open newspaper drawled.

“He’s not far wrong”, agreed Bucky “The coffee at the Pentagon was the highlight of my meeting. That and speaking with Major-General Odinson of course.”

“You actually SPOKE to the man?” asked Stark, quickly folding up his reading matter, with renewed interest.

“Sure, why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, he has a bit of a reputation for scaring people. Not as if I’ve ever met the man, but they say he’s built like a tank.”

“Then they’re right, whoever they are. I’ve never seen anyone look so intimidating, but he’s human as well.”

“You don’t say? Well, you were honoured, my boy.”

Bucky didn’t wish to disclose the details of his conversation. Odinson’s relation of his Omega father’s tragic death was a secret to be protected and cherished, so he redirected the conversation. That didn’t prove difficult.

“I didn’t meet his superior though.”

Stark blinked. “Odinson…has a superior?”

“Yes, he mentioned, a Lieutenant General Doolittle?”

Stark’s jaw dropped. “He’s not coming over here is he?”

“I don’t know. Odinson didn’t say.”

“I suppose he wouldn’t know anyway. Doolittle has a mind of his own”

“So, you know him then?”

“I know OF him. He led the first air raid on Tokyo. He’s a veteran and an honest to goodness war hero in your country. I’m surprised you weren’t brought up on tales of derring-do about him?”

“I was interested in flying, and in…aeroplanes”, said Bucky, deliberately choosing the quaint British term to distance himself from Stark’s assumption of his all-American childhood. “I wasn’t particularly interested in the people who flew them in the past”

“Not just the past”, countered Stark “Doolittle certainly isn’t yesterday’s man. He’s a the most potent force in the US Air Force today, both strategically and operationally. And that makes him unique.”

“Well, if you want my opinion, I think you and Bucky are unique as well”. added Peggy in a soothing tone.

 

-*-

 

“I really don’t know what got into him”, Bucky explained “It took Peggy a good ten minutes to completely calm him down. And by then, his porridge had gone so cold that he’s been in a foul mood all day.”

“Hence why you’re here with me?” teased Beth.

“Goodness no. You’re my favourite engineer, and I need your advice.”

Beth smiled, wiping her hands on an oily rag. “Well, I don’t know the first thing about this Doolittle character, but my guess is that Stark’s just jealous of someone who’s got more medals than him and can still fly.”

“I wasn’t talking about Stark’s weird-ass relationship with Doolittle, Beth. I was talking about ‘Sunshine Boy’.”

“You needn’t think I’m going into Phoenix ward with a set of screwdrivers. There are some things even I can’t fix.”

Bucky burst out laughing. “You know very well that’s not what I mean either!”

“Yeah, you mean your beloved pair of wings, don’tcha. Is her engine still pinking?”

Bucky nodded. “Intermittently, yes. Ever since the training run yesterday morning…”

“I take it you failed that absolute Galah of a pilot?”

“I really didn’t have a choice. No-one treats my ‘Sunshine Boy’ like that.”

“Yeah, he wasn’t exactly respectful to the ground crew either”, Beth grumbled. “You can tell a lot about a fellah from the way he speaks to people he doesn’t think are important.”

Bucky’s jovial tone turned serious. “There’s no-one more important than the ground crew.”

“I’d like to say you were buttering me up to take a look at your beloved bomber, but you’ve shown you mean it countless times during your training lectures and demonstrations, so I guess a thank you is in order.”

“I’ll forgo the thanks for the pleasure of your company up in the air for half an hour.”

Beth sighed wearily. “I was afraid you were going to say that. I take it the engine pinking only starts when you’re airborne?”

“I checked everything I could on the ground. The fuel lines aren’t blocked or anything simple like that. I wouldn’t have asked you otherwise. I know you get airsick easily, so I’ll keep her straight and level for you.”

“I can manage. I got over here from Canberra didn’t I?”, Beth said, swallowing back her nerves.

 

-*-

  
The friendly four-engined behemoth with the cartoon of Bucky’s blond-haired Omega boy grinning on her nose taxied lazily to its position, and paused.

“’Sunshine Boy’, you are cleared for take-off”

“I still hate it when they do that”, grumbled Bucky.

“What can I say? That’s progress for you”, shrugged Beth.

Bucky pushed the throttle forward with his prosthetic arm, and ‘Sunshine Boy’ started to speed down the runway. At the last moment, Bucky always closed his eyes in prayerful acknowledgement of Steve’s little English God, and sure enough, the Lancaster’s wheels lifted gently off the runway.

For some unaccountable reason, the sensation of his sweet Omega’s silken skin caressed his mind for a split second, identical to his powerful vision he’d had that morning.

He blinked himself alert. This was a premonition as strong as any he’d held in his dreams. He gulped down fear and concentrated on the throttle.

“Everything’s okay so far”, Beth commented, sitting side-saddle on the jump seat and staring out of the window. It was the port nearside engine, you said?”

“That’s right.”

“You said left.”

“No, that’s not what…oh very funny”, Bucky grumbled.

Beth shot him a mischievous grin. He knew what she was doing. He seemed to attract people who enjoyed teasing him, but Beth had an even stronger motive than seeing him squirm. It took her mind off the turbulence.

“Okay, we’re at a decent altitude now. I’ll throttle back, just to see if it makes any difference.”

‘Sunshine boy’ puttered along at a steady pace while Beth checked the instrument panels.

“Nothing at all. She’s barely breaking sweat.”, said Beth “Some of these older Lancasters have difficulty with tight acceleration and deceleration, and ‘Sunshine boy’ is the oldest bomber in the fleet now, but I reckon she took that just fine.”

“Have you any other suggestions?”

“You could try a sharp turn. The fuel lines might be clear on the ground, but sometimes they get brittle and start to fail during the more extreme manoeuvres…

…but then again, I can’t believe I just said that” Beth noted, grimly.

Bucky nodded his understanding. “My sympathies. You want a…”

“Brought one with me”, Beth cut in, cheerily waving her vomit bag aloft.

“Oh well, I guess here goes”, said Bucky “Hold on to your toolkit!”

Bucky locked the throttle control, placed both hands on the steering column, and wrenched it all the way to starboard.

Sunshine Boy lurched through the sky in a tight circle. Beth abruptly turned pale.

“Nothing wrong with that”, she managed, as soon as Bucky levelled off “Uhhh…I guess we’ll have to try it the other way.”

Bucky obediently pulled the column all the way over to port.

Beth concentrated on the engine, trying to keep her mind off the spinning.

“Ah…now, here’s your problem, said Beth, tapping one of the dials. She’s pinking all right, quite badly in fact. It’s gotta be a pretty serious problem with one of the fuel…”

“Shit.”

Beth glanced away from the instrument panel she’d been looking at.

“Bucky?”

“Shit, shit, shit, SHIT!”

Bucky rarely ever swore, and never in front of a lady.

“Bucky? What the hell’s wrong with ya?”

“My arm....my arm…my goddamn arm….the grasper’s jammed!”

“Strewth!”

Sure enough, Bucky’s prosthetic arm had jammed tight into the steering column. Sunshine boy was spinning faster and faster, out of control…the port nearside engine spluttering and wheezing with the effort.

“Grab the other stick. Try to level her out” Bucky pleaded.

Beth pulled up with all her might, but it was no use, she toyed with the idea of making a distress call to the tower but that would just be wasting time. Time they no longer had.

“What the hell are we gonna do?”

The engineer reached into her toolkit for pliers, but stumbling in her attempt to cut the prosthetics’ control wires in the spinning cockpit, she lost her grip and dropped them into the crew compartment below.”

“Damn…”

She crouched down for a wrench. Glanced up at the complex prosthetic mechanism, and laid the tool back down again, lost momentarily in thought.

With deafening bang that startled them both, the port far side engine stalled spectacularly in a shower of spark and flame, taking its counterpart with it. Sunshine boy was dizzily spiralling downwards. A few more minutes and their altitude would be too low to avoid the hills…too low even for….

Bucky closed his eyes. The silk, the silk, the goddamn silk.

“Beth, grab a parachute from behind the rear gunner’s position. Get out before it’s too late.”

“Like hell I will. I’m not leaving without you.”

“You’ve gotta save yourself.”

“Oh, spare me the gung-ho Alpha bullshit, mate.”

“I can’t get out of this. I’m trapped.”

“Yeah, but not for long!”

Bucky looked up to see Beth brandishing what looked suspiciously like a rusty fire axe.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not military issue”, said Bucky.

“I keep all sorts of fun stuff in my toolkit, Buck.” Beth winked “Now hold still. This is gonna tickle just a little.”

“We’re spinning outta control, you look as if you’re about to puke your guts up, and you want me to trust you with that thing?”

“You got no choice.”

Lifting the axe as high as she could in the close confines of the cockpit, Beth brought it down on the thinner aluminium plates protecting the inside elbow of Bucky’s prosthetic. His whole body slammed violently into the steering column as the arm buckled

“What the hell? You could have killed me.”

“Just once more…”

“What?”

The axe swung down again. With a hearty snap, the elbow plates gave way, severing the limb at the same time. Beth dragged Bucky out of his seat by his shirt collar.

“It’s my arm that’s gone, not my legs,” Bucky protested.

“Shut up and show me the way out, fly-boy!”

Between them, they made it up the near vertical fuselage. Beth helped him drag himself up the steep incline, grabbing a parachute as she went “You need one of these yourself?” she asked.

“No need. I always wear a chest chute”, said Bucky

Strapping herself in, Beth practically pushed Bucky out of the rear gunner’s door, before hurling herself after him.

The moment he got the chance, Bucky pulled the rip cord. With half a mangled arm, he took great care not to flail about and rip anything. Just below him, he saw Beth’s canopy opening up. He breathed a sigh of relief.

In the far distance, he could hear the bomber’s remaining engines screaming.  
Moments later, a deafening explosion made him turn his head. His Sunshine Boy had spiralled into the side of a hill. A split second later, she was engulfed in a ball of flame.

She was the only Lancaster in the war to bear an Omega boy’s name; the only one (in retirement at least) never to hurt another human being; she was his; the plane he loved. But not as much as the boy she was named after. Deep down in his soul, Bucky knew, he just knew, that some way, somehow, his own dear sunshine boy had got the message to him in his dreams, and as the dice sailed through the air, Steve had changed those snake-eyes for him, and saved his life.

As he bent his knees to land, the parachute folded gently around him like a cocoon. Extending his hand, Bucky felt the cool fresh smoothness of the parachute silk slip through his fingers, and thanked Steve and his quaint little English God for his deliverance.

 

-*-

 

Countless dimensions beneath consciousness in a world only dormant Omegas knew, delicate feelers of thought and scent crept around and inside and over each other like ants within an anthill. Beyond the realm of human reason, or the depiction of words, relief gave way to sorrow, grief, pleading, and finally a mutually becalmed resignation.

The sentiments dripped timeless and sheer, immutable, subsonic and invisible. The nurses didn’t even look up from their desk on Phoenix Ward.

Undetected by all but themselves, two souls parted on a promise. One soul would leave the other, but before their final leave-taking, they would bear witness to the joys of love and life together….one…. last…time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General Doolittle was a real person and his aviation exploits were indeed legendary. A biography of his life can be viewed here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jimmy_Doolittle


	41. Seed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm notoriously coy when writing 'sexy time' scenes, so please forgive my reticence in this chapter!

 

Dr Banner looked up from his desk, setting his cup and saucer aside. “Why, bless my soul. I didn’t expect to see you here this early, Mr. Barnes. I’ve only just completed my consultations. Unless you’re about to tell me you’re the first ever pregnant Alpha, in which case I’ll alert the York Evening Press immediately…they could do with a good headline, given the way their sales have been going lately.”

“What can I say?” Bucky shrugged. “They lost their best reporter, but I feel his loss a good deal more than they do.”

The gynaecologist nodded gravely, retrieved his drink and offered Bucky the chair on the opposite side of his desk.

“Didn’t feel like wearing the arm today?”

“I lost it when I crashed my ‘plane on Wednesday.”

Dr Banner practically choked on his tea. “Well, no-one will ever accuse you of living a dull life.”

“It’s nothing. Well, not nothing. The Squadron Leader wasn’t exactly pleased to lose yet another bomber, albeit a semi-retired one. I was pretty cut up myself, although not as much as the poor prosthetic.”

“Surely you’re not here for one of ours? They’re practically useless.”

“Oh no. I’m sure I can find some poor long-suffering engineer to help build me a new one using her existing blueprints.”

“So, what exactly can I do for you, beyond presenting the undignified spectacle of an Englishman spitting out his tea?”

“I’ve got a….ah…embarrassing question.”

Banner smiled. “Like I’ve told you before. I get ‘em all the time”

“No, this one is different”, Bucky winced. “Do…do you think Omega boys can communicate during dormancy?”

Banner gave Bucky a knowing look. “I’m pretty sure you know what he’s feeling when you’re with him of a Sunday evening.”

“No that’s…that’s not quite what I meant”

After a nod of encouragement from the doctor, Bucky continued. “Before the crash, I got premonitions that something was about to happen. You’re gonna think I’m crazy, doc, but I think my Stevie was warning me.”

The doctor steepled his fingers together thoughtfully.

“No, you’re not crazy, but…it’s…it’s complicated.”

“Why am I not surprised by that?”

“The mind is a very powerful thing”, explained Dr. Banner “Those modern psychoanalysts that Steve read about when he was thinking to fix your nightmares…well, they talk about the power of the mind, especially the subconscious mind in visions and dreams. The question is, did Steve warn you, or did you interpret what happened later to have it fit your beliefs?”

“If I’m honest, probably a bit of both, but I really do believe he influenced me to be more alert just before the accident happened.”

“Well…nothing is impossible.” The doctor looked down at his cup and saucer for a moment, before continuing. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Bucky. Phoenix ward wasn’t always subdivided into little side-rooms. In the early days it was much more open.”

Bucky furrowed his brows. “But how did the Omega boys nest?”

“They didn’t. Not back then, anyway. In the early days of dormancy nursing, we didn’t think that encouraging that activity was beneficial to their recovery. We were wrong, very wrong. Death rates were so much higher back then.”

Banner glanced from side to side conspiratorially.

“That was the official reason for setting up the side-rooms you see, but it wasn’t the only reason. One of the enigmas of early Omega nursing was why patients in beds next to each other would often have the same outcome. If one Omega boy died in the middle of the ward, the Omegas on either side would invariably die a few days later. Some clinicians, especially the nursing staff, believed that they somehow caught each other’s fears. It was dismissed as nonsense of course because it could never be proven. Recovery rates did increase with the side-rooms, but that was attributed to nesting, not to isolation.”

“But how did they explain why all those Omegas died together?”

“Co-incidence, they said.”

Bucky made a face to that. “And what do you think?”

“I think the modern psychoanalysts are right. The mind is a very powerful thing. We’ll never really know what goes on during Omega boy dormancy. Just because they’re unconscious, doesn’t mean their brains and bodies aren’t working together to heal themselves. It doesn’t mean they can’t draw strength, or succumb to weakness, from other dormant Omegas nearby. And that’s before we even get into the potential of scent signals.”

“But you told me Steve’s scent gland wasn’t functioning right now”, said Bucky.

“That’s true”, confirmed Banner. “Few dormant Omegas have that capacity. All the same, that doesn’t mean there aren’t subtler scent cues that we can’t pick up on, just as there might be unconscious thoughts being transmitted.”

“But surely that’s only within a few feet?”

Banner shrugged. “How can you know? How can any of us know?”

“You told me the nurses saw Omega boys in surrounding beds being affected, not the whole ward.”

“They were affected the most strongly, or so it seemed, but no-one got around to doing any research into the phenomenon. The whole theory was dismissed, remember?”

“So that means Steve could have influenced me? For real?”

Banner took a sip of his tea, “Theoretically anything is possible. I’d still maintain your experience was a mixture of factors, most involving the responses of your own subconscious mind, but I wouldn’t dismiss or deny the intensity of Alpha/Omega relationships as a possible element, especially bearing in mind how very intimate the pair of you are.”

Tears welled in Bucky’s eyes. He may be caring for Steve in hospital, but Steve was his soul mate and now he was more convinced than ever that his sunshine boy was looking out for him too.

Dr Banner glanced down at his desk calendar. “And I believe today is a very special day for you, isn’t it?”

“Yes”, Bucky smiled wistfully, it’s my Stevie’s birthday

“Hmmm..I was about to say that it was…”

“The 4th of July, I know”, Bucky completed the sentence for him. “But that means nothing to me right now other than my Stevie’s birthday. Today’s all about celebrating with my sweetheart.”

 

-*-

 

Brian was already pacing the corridor outside the side-rooms when the two of them reached Phoenix Ward, looking distinctly worried.

“What’s wrong?” asked Dr. Banner.

“I don’t know” Brian said, cagily. “Something’s…something’s not right. My Jamie’s looking very pale today.”

“When’s he due to wake up this week?” the doctor asked.

“In another half hour.”

“Then I’ll just check in with the nurses, and I’ll come right back to you, Mr. Braddock.”

Bucky nodded respectfully to his fellow Alpha. “I’m sorry to hear Jamie’s not well, Brian. I’ll come see you once my Stevie’s gone back to sleep.”

“Thanks. Wish him a Happy Birthday from me, will you?”

“You bet”, Bucky grinned.

Steve was curled up peacefully, his shoulders rising and falling with the regularity of undisturbed slumber. His complexion, though naturally pale, bore the blush of healthy colour. Bucky heaved a sigh of relief. If there was any truth to the rumour of subconscious communication between Omega boys, then it hadn’t affected him adversely. If anything, he looked healthier now than he had in the past month. He gently carded his hand through his sweetheart’s sunshine hair, brushing the blond bangs away from his eyes. Birthday boy looked so irresistibly gorgeous today.

Bucky had allowed himself the luxury of time to prepare. He unloaded his treats carefully, placing them without a comfortable arm’s reach of the bed and slowly stripped himself down taking care to slip his underwear into the blankets for added scent comfort. Finally, he climbed into bed, tucking tight in behind his fiancé to assuming his natural position of big spoon. Instinctively, he scented the breezy child-like perfume of Steve’s skin, and settled in to await the tell-tale murmurs and change in breathing pattern that would indicate his love’s awakening.

The tremor was very faint, he barely felt it, but gradually it grew in intensity. Bucky hated it when his fiancé’s body hurt him this way. Dr. Banner had explained it was a common symptom of dormancy amongst Omega boys with physical frailties. Steve’s arms began to twitch and spasm as if he were fitting. And just as with a fit, it wasn’t advisable to restrain, but just to protect his face from the flailing fists.

“Shhhh….shhhhh, it’s okay baby…shhhh…I’m here for you.”

A faint moan signalled that Steve’s body and mind were gradually calming. He instinctively melted into Bucky’s side, snuggling into the comfort and warmth of his Alpha.

Bucky brushed a kiss against Steve’s neck. “My baby…my beautiful baby”, he murmured.

The deep tones of his voice soothed Steve still further. His arms relaxed as he lifted a hand to suck his thumb.

“You don’t need to do that. You got me now.”

Bucky put his hand to Steve’s face. The scent of his open palm triggered something primal in Steve. He started to lap at the smooth skin with his tongue.

“Cut it out, Stevie, that tickles”, Bucky giggled.

Bucky knew Steve couldn’t hear him, or that if he could, he wouldn’t be able to understand. His subconscious mind worked on tone of voice, touch and scent; mostly touch it seemed. After a few more minutes of licking, he wriggled in the embrace indicating he wanted to be held face-to-face. Bucky gently spun his body around, and Steve clung to him like a touch-starved puppy, rubbing himself along his fiancé’s torso with a guttural groan of pleasure.

“Damn, baby, you’re lively today.”

Steve’s eyes widened with arousal. Their gaze both thrilled and depressed him, for though he was clearly bonded to his Alpha, his dilated pupils were like two reflective mirrors. There was nothing behind them; no conscious thought, at any rate. He desperately wished he could be sure of Dr. Banner’s communication theory. If even a fraction of his thoughts and feelings might be penetrating those mirrors, then he’d be blissfully happy.

“You know you saved my life last week, sweetheart?” he whispered, tracing his hand over the curve of each skinny rib. “I know it was you. I know you made me dream of your silk-smooth skin.”

Steve mewled softly, almost as if answering.

“When you’re all better, I’m gonna get you some sexy silk underwear to thank you”, Bucky said, with a blush. “But it’ll be course and unyielding compared to your sweet, sweet flesh.”

Bucky could have sworn he saw Steve colour a little at that, but it might have been wishful thinking. Like the doctor had said, he was probably interpreting the signals in a way that confirmed his own selfish hopes.

“But for now”, Bucky continued “I got you a little something as a present. Because you know what today is, don’t you?”

To that, there was no response. Of course, there was no response. For one crazy moment, he’d thought Steve would somehow know, but how could he? There was no way of Steve knowing what season it was, let alone the month or date in his dimly lit nest in the turret room. The only clock Steve had left to him was biological. Bucky could only pray that his body was steadily preparing itself to re-emerge from dormancy into a new life they could share with each other.

But for now, this was the best he had. And he’d make do…somehow.

“Happy 25th birthday, my love”, he murmured into Steve’s ear.

Bucky reached into the scent laden space under his testicles, and produced a warm silk handkerchief. It was a dull shade of beige, and the polka dot pattern was more suitable for a lady, but it was the best he could do. The choice of scent area was deeply embarrassing, but this was all about his Stevie. He needed touch and scent comfort, and Bucky would fulfil that need, no matter what it took.

He held it up for Steve to scent. An instinct-driven smile immediately formed on his lips. God, how Bucky dearly wished that this was more than an automatic hind-brain response of an Omega to his Alpha, but he reminded himself that he mustn’t be greedy.

With a gentle stroking motion, he slid the silken threads over his fiancé’s sunken chest, down his abdomen and around his crotch. Although his arousal mirrored Bucky’s own, he never became erect. Dr Banner explained that Steve’s flaccid penis was a survival instinct to prevent Alphas feeling threatened and attacking their defenceless Omega boys during dormancy. Bucky could see the merit in it back then, even though he couldn’t believe there was ever a time such mindless barbarity occurred. But, in truth, it really didn’t matter. He didn’t need a visual cue to see the happiness Steve shared with him during these precious few hours each week.

“I wanted to get you a birthday cake, but you couldn’t eat it, not when you can’t chew, my darling…so I’ve improvised.”

Peggy had been kind enough to whip him up some buttercream frosting for the occasion. He reached for the bowl of sweet vanilla and scooped some onto his fingers. The scent of Alpha and frosting was all the prompting Steve needed. In moments he was sucking Bucky’s fingers into his mouth, his tongue gently stripping the frosting from Bucky’s skin, and then caressing his flesh. Steve enjoyed Bucky’s fingers just for the comfort, but Bucky got his own satisfaction from adding the frosting - some extra fuel to his fiancé’s fire - through this novel feeding technique. He needed his love to be as strong as he could, considering how frail his body was to begin with. One day soon, God willing, Steve would get better, but for now, this was another way to fulfil his needs.

Around halfway through the tub, Steve started to lose interest in the frosting, and slid his tongue down the fingers, nibbling at Bucky’s knuckles with a tiny cheeping sound like nothing he’d heard before. It sounded so urgent and needy.

“What is it, baby? Show me?”

Again, it wasn’t so much the words and the tone of voice that encouraged Steve to act. He wriggled closer, his tongue transferring to Bucky’s chin and down along his throat, all the time maintaining that persistent cheep, cheep, cheeping.

The lapping of his tongue against the curve of his throat produced a powerful sexual urge in Bucky; more powerful than he'd ever expected. Alpha arousal bloomed in the little turret room. Unable to control his instincts, he bucked his hips against Steve's thigh. With moments, Steve slid down and buried his face in Bucky's crotch, blindly seeking his shaft.

"N...no", Bucky grunted, trying to gently shepherd Steve away from his burgeoning erection. He knew from past experience that if his fiancé sucked the head into his mouth, then Bucky wouldn't be able to stop himself from thrusting in, potentially choking Steve.

Instead he gently coaxed his sweetheart back up to his scent gland. Steve started to nose and then suckle on the sensitive spot...Bucky threw back his head

"Oh....oh God, baby. I don't know what the heck's got into you but...hot damn!"

Bucky wrapped his palm around his own shaft and started to beat to the rhythm of Steve's suckling...back and forth Steve's tongue slid, back and forth, back and forth....Bucky couldn't contain himself. He swore he could see stars as he shot his load into his palm. Instantly, the sharp scent of Alpha seed filled the space between them. Steve started up his cheeping with an intensity that would brook no dispute or refusal.

Finally, Bucky understood what he needed.

He barely had time to raise his arm, before Steve buried his face in the sticky puddle in his palm, licking and sucking ever last drop of seed. Bucky looked at him with an expression of awe as Steve pulled back a little and murmured contentedly. His nose and chin still dripped with semen. Bucky scooped it off very gently and offered it up. Steve latched back on the seed-smeared fingers, clearly more insatiable for this taste than he ever was for the frosting.

Bucky chuckled low. "So, that's what you wanted for your birthday, huh?"

He always had a warm bowl of water, a washcloth and a fluffy towel to hand in case of feeding accidents. He gently washed the crusted seed from his sweetheart's face, and towelled him dry.

Steve gave a little, almost apologetic burp. "Tasty was it?”, asked Bucky “Well, I guess that's one way of getting some protein in you. Want to wash it down?"

Bucky reached for the feeding bottle, laying the teat against Steve's lips. He quickly latched on, sucking lazily on the nipple. He could tell Steve was already getting tired. Bucky snuggled closer against him, rubbing circles on his back once he was done with the milk.

"I love you, baby. I love you so much. Please get strong for me… Please come back to me…" Bucky repeated, over and over, like a mantra, as his Stevie's breathing gradually evened out and he descended once more into the unconscious ether of another weekly healing cycle.

 

-*-

 

  
Closing the door gently behind him, Bucky headed off down the floral scented corridor, expecting to encounter one of the nurses there.

Yet the ward appeared deserted.

His Alpha instinct was to bolt back to Steve’s turret room and protect his Omega boy. But that was an over-reaction surely?

Nevertheless, his shoulders tensed for a fight as he continued to make his way down the corridor.

Then he saw the source of the altered routine.

Dr Banner and both nurses were standing around Jamie’s bed. Brian looked frantic. Bucky didn’t want to intrude, but the moment he scented his fellow Alpha, Brian rushed from the room in a panic, tears welling in his eyes.

“He’s…he’s not waking up. Dr Banner says his pulse and heart beat are all over the place.”

“What does that mean?”

Brian looked at the floor, unable to meet his eye. “He says Jamie’s dormancy cycle is failing. I’m…I’m so scared, Bucky.”

“Can the doc do anything?”

“He’s trying some kind of anaesthetic gas, but it isn’t working. He thinks tha…”

“The door of the side-room flew open.”

“Brian, get in here NOW”, ordered Dr. Banner.

For a Beta to use that tone to an Alpha was almost unheard of. It meant that something terrible was happening. Brian flew back into the room, Bucky following on after, fearing to intrude but also not wanting to leave his fellow Alpha to face the trauma alone.

Jamie had propped himself into a half-sitting position on the pillows, his nest collapsed in a heap all around him.

He was awake. Fully awake.

He’d been in dormancy less than 7 months, and now he was awake.

“Jamie?”

“Brian, my…my love, my passion”, came this little flame-haired Omega boy’s voice, lilting with the sweet hint of a lowland Scottish brogue.

“Why are…”

Jamie shook his head. “No questions. We haven’t the time for questions. I’m….I’m so sorry… but I can’t…I just can’t go on anymore…”

“You can; I know you can!”, Brian insisted desperately.

“No... the emptiness, the pain in my empty belly from our baby…it’s not healing…the ache’s just growing, it’s eaten away my will to live, my love…I just can’t heal from this.”

Bucky knew Brian’s Omega was speaking figuratively; that their daughter had been a teenager when she died, but Brian didn’t dispute Jamie’s words. He knew it was futile at this point.

“I love you, my sweet English passion”, he trilled “I always have, I always will. We both of us tried our best, but it just wasn’t to be, that’s all. You have to be…you have to be strong for me. You have to look after our son Peter now, y’hear?”

“Jamie”, Brian sobbed “….Jamie?...JAMIE!”

The little Omega boy’s eyes lolled into the back of his head. He rasped out a final breath, and settled back peacefully onto the pillows.

Brian wailed incoherently, as one of the nurses drew a simple white sheet over the frail little body.

Dr. Banner shook his head sadly, scribbling the time of death onto the notes of the late Jamie Parker as the nurses attempted to comfort his distraught Alpha.

“There was…there was nothing you could do?” Bucky asked the doctor, tears welling in his eyes.

“Nothing at all, I’m afraid”, sighed Banner “ An Omega boy in dormancy is making one last throw of the dice, often for the sake of his Alpha more than for himself. If it’s clear that his body and mind won’t heal, it tends to end this way.”

“And the gas Brian mentioned?”

“…has an outside chance of working if there’s been a physical problem like an illness or injury that’s caused an interruption to the sleep cycle somehow…But you heard Jamie’s words. This was as much emotional as anything else. I have the expertise of the countless generations of doctors who came before me, but if the medical profession goes on for another thousand years, we’ll still never be able to mend a broken heart.”

Bucky swallowed thickly. His Stevie was all alone on the ward now. Would that courageous heart - broken by their little rosebud’s death - heal itself? Or would he too wake before his time only to die of grief?

The dice of chance still spun in the air.

And only time would tell.

 

 


End file.
